In Search of Pluck

a poem in response to this prompt by Dewi

Photo by Joseph Barrientos on Unsplash

Carry
the tome of stacked odds, set sail
on a boat called Chance,
race
towards a flat line
of unseen, imaginary promises,
crest
the tallest, golden wave,

let it backlight life

into you, find out that Poseidon
was cast down because he
dared kiss
the sun without permission,
tempt
depths of despair,
learn
that you don’t need oxygen
or consent

for the courage

to live.

Author’s side note: My maiden name is Pluck. Though it mostly got me teased, I always appreciated its other meaning.