One of my favorite things about being a writer is utilizing wordplay, and tapping into how language can feel like jungle gym recess time for the mind. Lately I’ve been thinking about the term, “bucket list”, meaning the adventures you want to have before “kicking the bucket”––and taking the term literally. As a former basketball player, there have been plenty of meaningful “buckets” in my life, and this week I made a list of the first ones that came to mind. Here it is:
The toy buckets from the first time I went to the beach.
I thought every kids’ bucket was a gift from the sea
until another three-year-old fought me off with a plastic shovel.
. . . . .
The bucket my mother would carry into the forest
behind my childhood home and return with the saplings
that taught me a blooming that can’t be bought.
. . . . .
The bucket I refused to bring trick or treating
because it was too small
to hold all the sweetness I was after.
. . . . .
The bucket of tar at my construction job
in which I accidentally dipped my ponytail
and finally had an excuse to chop it off.
. . . . .
The buckets the kids turned into drums
in New Orleans Jackson Square
the year I left everything I ever knew, for love.
. . . . .
The buckets of laughter from the day I peed my pants
because I fell off our tandem bike and crawled to the sidewalk,
leaving Meg to stop traffic (as she always does).
. . . . .
The bucket of playdough Dylan ate
at the Montessori school where I taught,
as if to convince me we can survive on art alone.
. . . . .
The buckets of tears I cried the day I left those kids
to try to make a living from writing poems.
. . . . .
The bucket that collected all the drops in the bucket
that watered my dreams.
. . . . .
The bucket readied for my baby sister’s detox
the day she decided to water her dreams too.
. . . . .
Every bucket I made after dark
on the outdoor courts in my hometown
before the city gave me a key to the lights
so I could practice as long as I’d like.
. . . . .
The 20 buckets my highschool team won the state championship by.
The 20 buckets I just happened to net that night.
. . . . .
Every bucket my college girlfriend scored on me
while I was refusing to come out of the closet.
I never wanted to lose so bad to anyone.
. . . . .
The mop bucket from the youth home
where I worked with the girls who taught me
spilling my guts could save my life.
. . . . .
The bucket we passed at the poetry slam
to collect cash for the prize.
The first time I lost that bucket
to a better poem and didn’t sulk,
but gushed with awe the whole bus ride home.
. . . . .
The buckets of paint that convinced me
to stop giving myself new coats
and knock down my walls instead.
. . . . .
The empty ice bucket at the hotel
where I was so bubbly I said “I love you”
without champagne.
. . . . .
The bucket my partner and I’ve kept
beneath the leak in our roof since we learned
we can water our love with the rain.
. . . . .
So friends, what’s on your bucket list––both figuratively and literally? Leave it in the comments! And if you want to try a writing prompt of your own like the one above, take a common phrase in your language and make it new. For instance:
“BREAK THE ICE” → What ice do you want to break? The ice of the lake so that you can float the day away? The ice over another’s heart?
“GET A SECOND WIND” → What winds would you like to feel again? Maybe the breeze from the first time you rode your bicycle without training wheels? Or the air from the last sail boat ride you took with your father?
Have a wonderful day, love-buckets.
Love, Andrea 🖤
. . . . .
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📣 Add to the conversation: So friends, what’s on your bucket list––both figuratively and literally? Share your thoughts in the comments
The buckets that we kick when we pass on.