A hint of singing together, and a strong reference to the lyric version of “The Last of the Wilds” by Nightwish. I’m in the early days of attempting to learn Finnish so this is where my headspace is at. Enjoy!

Poem prompt: “Today’s daily resource is the Art Institute of Chicago, where just searching the collection for the word ‘stars,’ I found this amazing quilt, a very fancy-looking Soviet plate, and an illustration of the constellation Leo from a medieval Arabic astronomical guide.

And now for today’s (optional) prompt. One fundamental aspect of music is its communal nature. While music can be made by a single person, of course, it’s often made in groups. Rock bands, orchestras, church choirs – they all involve making music together. And often, we’re playing or performing music that was written by, or inspired by, other people.

In her poem, Duet, Lisa Russ Spaar tells the story of two sisters making music together, based on two pre-existing songs by different artists. Today, we challenge you to write a poem that involves people making music together, and that references – with a lyric or line – a song or poem that is important to you.”

The Last Wilderness

When bricks and metal twist into cages 
to cave in—like living 
inside 
a menaced Rubik's Cube 
inside 
a devious Rube Goldberg machine, 

when it seems that everything 
our tongues touch is some micro or macro 
artificial composite of poly whatevers: 
-ester 
-styrene 
-ethylene 
-vinyl... 

Wildflowers grow in concrete cracks, 
sending daughters floating on the wind 
to meet grandmothers in their native land. 
The daughters still speak the language 
as though they never knew an oppressor. 

You can float there, too. 
Meet the flowers uncrushed by steel-toed boots. 
Sisters sing to each other in the meadow 
and welcome the lost ones home. 
No need to forgive 
what we were born to. 

At least we were born  
with free legs able to flee 
like fallen fruit of the poisonous tree 
rolling toward rushing waters 
seeking to powerwash the industrial 
mucus layer off pure skin beneath. 

Stop, drop, roll, and run. Follow us. 
Let me show you the way. 

We snuck out the back door, rushed the woods, 
found the overgrown path, bled on hanging thorns, 
threw away baptismal promises 
we never knew we made. 

Awash yourselves, sisters, in the sweet stream 
never clogged by mown grass. 
Pet the skunk without fear of its fear. 
No need to wait for Heaven. 
Earth's hidden place 

erämaan viimeinen on 

and if you fly your feet far enough, long enough, 
unplugged and breathing fresh air sans smoke 
until tobacco flowers fast to their roots 
are all you can smell: musky, sweet, and natural, 

you will find it.