Coming Up Empty

Having once found a bud that was rose,
I created a gay that was nose.
This work that was art
Tugged my strings that were heart,
So I danced in my shoes that were toes.

That is a "backwards limerick." As far as I know, James Thurber invented the art form.

I love Thurber. The first time I went out with My Awesome Husband Greg, we used his mother's car, which had no radio. After Greg had sung me every song he knew, he began reciting Thurber's "The Night the Bed Fell on Father," which he had memorized for drama class. The story was dear to me, because I remembered my dad reading it to us as kids. At the time, that was all the Thurber I knew.

Years later, I learned a lot more. I read every book by or about Thurber that I could carry home from the library.

When I woke up this morning, I knew what I was going to write about. It wasn't Thurber, and it wasn't limericks--backward or otherwise. It was going to be about the poems I wrote for my daughter when she was in college. I was going to share one with you that I liked so much, I kept a copy. It didn't have a name when I wrote it, but in my blog, I was going to call it "Should." I even knew what photo I would put with it.

Alas, the poem wasn't where I thought I had seen it. It wasn't where I thought I mht have put it. It wasn't anywhere I could think of that made sense. I finally gave up looking for
But my time spent searching wasn't wasted, because I found the limerick that opened this post. There were brilliant reverse limericks in one of Thurber's books. I wrote others. I know there are copies of his and mine somewhere in this house. They may never be found, but I hope they will. Along with "Should."

Because this wasn't the post I thought I was going to write today, I feel like I came up empty. If I have a nightmare about a lost poem, I hope it reveals its hiding place before I wake up.