Thyme in my Pocket
(After Lucille Clifton)

I tucked a sprig of thyme in my pocket
for courage, thinking about how it grows
in the mountains between rocks in poor
soil. I was climbing my own mountain,
feet buried in poor soil to my knees.
The Romans burned thyme as incense
and bathed in its fragrant waters before battle.
I rubbed the sprig between my fingers,
absorbing its oil to assist me in battle
for a new life.

***
Prompt via napowrimo.net: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to take one of your favorite poems and find a very specific, concrete noun in it. For example, if your favorite poem is this verse of Emily Dickinson’s, you might choose the word “stones” or “spectre.” After you’ve chosen your word, put the original poem away and spend five minutes free-writing associations – other nouns, adjectives, etc. Then use your original word and the results of your free-writing as the building blocks for a new poem.”

I chose Lucille Clifton’s “There is a Girl Inside” which is easily my favorite poem. 

Image via.