It has been a full month since my last snatch at daily poetry. Essentially the entire month of April is contained in the missing pages (posts?). (Holy Week is also missing, but I will excuse myself from artistic obligations therein, since I was stewing in receptivity instead of productivity). I could write explanations, thousands, good ones, but instead I’m going to pick up the tattered string and keep knitting away instead of talking here.
I will say this, however: April was an intensely poetic, burgeoning month, so much so that I felt incapable of writing anything about it while trying to surface from its torrential downpour. Onward.
In honor of April, here you go:
we carry our words in our bellies, long outgrowing
their gestation period. they’re aging long beyond
their birthdays, when we compressed and squeezed
and resisted their life in the air and in the ears of others
and said no one could hold them as well as we could
that we couldn’t trust our families, either. so we kept
them tightly, inside. until one day by mistake we might
whisper them into the dark during a dream.
they shall go limping into the dark to find a home,
longing for the warmth of ears, orphans.
At the beginning of 2013, I scratched out a devotion to practical, rough daily poetry. I missed a while. I’m back.