This month, my poetry sisters and I met up via Zoom.

During our conversation, Laura tossed her metaphor dice: an actual set of 9-12 cubes with words or phrases on them. They came up with things like “Home is a well-worn zoo” and “Love is a broken wonder.”

The metaphor generated for me was “Your body is an impossible blessing.” Why, thank you, Laura. And also, amen to that.

I immediately decided to write a poem about poop.

Hear me out: It was all because of the words body and blessing in close proximity. And because, as a menopausal woman, there are almost no times anymore when my body is “regular,” in any sense. Size, shape, function . . .

Sometimes a few days go by and things are slow or stalled, and when they start again, I’m always grateful. (Does it matter if I’m talking about poop, or about something else? Probably not.) When things start again—the flow of ideas, if you will, or whatever else has been stopped up, I am always grateful.

At those times, I think hallelujah.