Message in a Bottle: A 30/30 Project Poem
Some poems arrive like a wave. They do not ask permission. They strike the body first, then leave their meaning behind like salt on the skin.
Today’s 30/30 Project poem, “Message in a Bottle,” is one of those poems. It begins at the ocean’s edge, with tar between toes and the body moving through water, sand, kelp, and sound. By the end, the speaker has turned a scream into a note, placed it inside a bottle, and given it to the waves.
This poem was written in response to a donation prompt from Lisa Bevivino. I am grateful for that prompt, and for the way a single image or phrase can open a door. Since my last post, I have also received donations from Beverly Heasley and Adrienne Palomeque. I am so warmed by the support of my friends. It helps me know that I am doing the write thing (pun intended).
Read today’s poem, “Message in a Bottle”
Message in a Bottle Katerina Canyon The ocean drums while I dive beneath the waves. tar sticks between my water-logged wrinkly toes. Peeling away the bubblegum stickiness purifies me. It leaves the bottom of my feet white—a contrast to the brown that starts above the arch. These sun dwindled beyond horizon. My legs never tired of running through the surf. My feet sucked more tar to its heels, and I peeled it away—all clean again. I scream as loud as I want because I can never out scream the ocean. My hair wild—inspired by sand dunes; electrified by the sunset. My body tangles in kelp. It slows me down, but it does not keep me from dry sand. My father tilts his head and empties his wine bottle. He tosses it to me. I inset the note: “Help!” and I throw my screams Into the waves.
A donation prompt became today’s poem
This poem began with a donation prompt from Lisa Bevivino. That detail matters to me because the 30/30 Project thrives on this kind of exchange. A donor offers support. A prompt arrives. A poem answers.
There is something beautiful about that cycle. It makes the writing feel communal without taking away the solitude of the work. The poem still has to be written alone, line by line, image by image. But the spark comes from someone who cared enough to participate.
Since my last post, Beverly Heasley and Adrienne Palomeque have also donated. Their support means more than I can easily say. Every donation feels like someone standing nearby and saying, keep going. Every prompt feels like a hand reaching forward with a small, bright object in the palm.
Writing thirty poems in thirty days asks for discipline, but it also asks for trust. Some days, the poem arrives quickly. Other days, the first line hides. A prompt can open a path I might not have found on my own.
That is why I want to keep inviting people in.
If you have ever wanted to shape a poem without writing the poem yourself, this is one way to do it. Send a prompt. Offer an image, a memory, a phrase, a question, a place, or an object. Let it become part of the day’s work.
Why supporting Tupelo Press matters
Tupelo Press gives poets a place to be read, challenged, and supported. The 30/30 Project is part of that work. It creates a daily practice for poets and a daily invitation for readers.
When people donate, they support more than one poem. They support the press, the project, and the larger community that believes poetry still matters in public life. That support helps keep space open for language that is not rushed, flattened, or reduced to a headline.
Poetry gives us room to say what ordinary speech sometimes cannot hold. It can carry memory, protest, grief, beauty, contradiction, and need. It can say “Help!” and trust that one word to carry the weight.
If today’s poem moved you, I hope you will consider donating to Tupelo Press. I would also love for you to send me a poem prompt. Your prompt may become part of this month’s work, just as Lisa Bevivino’s prompt became “Message in a Bottle.”
Here are a few prompt ideas if you are not sure where to begin:
A childhood place that still feels alive
An object passed from one person to another
A sound that covered another sound
A color connected to a memory
A moment when the body knew something before the mind did
A word someone could not say out loud
Prompts do not need to be polished. They only need to be offered.
Keep sending the bottles
“Message in a Bottle” ends by sending a scream into the waves. Today, I am thinking about how poems do something similar. They carry what might otherwise disappear. They hold the urgent note. They trust the water.
Thank you to Lisa Bevivino for the prompt that led to this poem. Thank you to Beverly Heasley and Adrienne Palomeque for your donations. Your support has warmed me and encouraged me.
Please consider donating to Tupelo Press, and please consider sending me a prompt for a future poem. A word, an image, or a memory may be all it takes to begin the next one.
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