For today's prompt, I want you to write a renewable poem. I suppose you could write about renewable energy or renewable books (from the library). But there are other ways to come at this, too. Vows are renewable, as are promises and oaths. In fact, if you think about it long enough, it's hard to think of things that aren't renewable. Now, get writing.


my hands grab fast under the wee canopy of dead mums
and i snap their heads off and fling them into the soil
that I blow clean of parched leaves
that shed from the tree
that lets go complex, built pods (of a thousand seeds)
that won't fall apart until the late, later rains,
about when the camelias .shh. unfurl
that will later fall and rest like little pools of pink or white till they brown
and disappear, brown into brown, into the path where I walk in circles
forgetting and finding love with each season,
and the clouds pull back into the sky that grows pink, then blue like
a bruise, then darker again so i climb into bed, like before and before,
and close my eyes and see worlds that should have no light
but do
and in the morning i awaken
renewed
startled to see
a cyclamen
volunteer
established and blossomed
in the driest corner of my garden.