Day Three: Gigi was here

Challenge 3: “Write something that involves a story or action that unfolds over an appreciable length of time. Perhaps, as you do, you can focus on imagery, or sound, or emotional content (or all three!)”

Gigi was here  

First it is a pack of cards
that by the look of it
got thrown from a car.
I keep passing the spot
where they lie scattered.
Rather than pick them up
I watch them waste away.
They get smaller and thinner.

Before they are fully gone
I feel an urge to turn around
a pair that lie face down.
And I do.
One is Jack of Spades,
the other Four of Diamonds.

I take it as a sign:
My four-legged Jack
will be dropping diamonds
in spades.

That summer ends,
the cards disappear
and no photo is taken.

Comes December.
What do I see lying on the road
a few steps from our home
but a CD!
No face down for a CD,
I think at first,
mistaking it for a record.

Can’t wait to catch up
with Diamond Jack,
who found it first,
and see whose music was discarded
in such a finite way.
Another sign for sure.
My camera at the ready.
We pounce.

I don’t expect it
to speak Italian
even though I’m right here.
I followed my heart.

So did Gigi.
This is where the heart takes you,
Gigi.

Later that day
I recall the event to amore.
“Who was it?”
as anxious as I was.
“Gigi D’Alessio.”

The scoff,
the grin,
the eye-roll,
the hand gesture
- all at once -
remove the need
to say anything.

I feel sorry for Gigi.
I find him online when alone.
I advise against.

A month and a half passes
and what do I spot in the grass
or rather Jack does?
Barely legible Gigi has been
beaten
and eaten.
Entire chunks are missing.
At least it has soft grass
as a resting place.

But still I don’t put him
out of misery.

In May I find him again.
I’m surprised,
I have forgotten him already.
Grass is less
with an occasional flower,
and it’s yellowing.
Almost one half is missing.
All print is gone.
If I found it now,
there would be no telling
it was Gigi.

June.
Barely grass.
Barely Gigi.

This is where the heart takes you:
where diamonds are in spades,
where music is dead,
only plastic is forever.

Here is the poem again in ten photos. I guess this is an imagery shortcut and technically cheating. But this is what I am: not really a poet, not just a photographer.

Day 3 of NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

17 Comments

  1. I love this Manja! The stories you tell in your poems are so different and so interesting. Here I felt attached to this little CD. It’s pretty cool how you could make the disintegration of a CD so intriguing!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Yes. I was cringing as I scrolled towards the photos because I got the sense that Gigi was roadkill, which is how you wanted us to read it. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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