We are, all of us, in a coup of sorts. The forced injustice of disease stomping its boots on our collective heads. It’s one of the unknown dangers of our diverse lives lived frantically, furiously, frenetically in close quarters.
But, there can be light in dark places. People are finding it all the time. And, serendipitously, April brings with it the hope of poetry: National Poetry Month. Into this current of shared shared beauty I would cautiously but willingly wade.
A poem a day. Sometimes my own. Often the works of others, both new and historic. I pray you’ll take this wordish journey with me as we cry out our voices against the melée and toward our healing and the comforts of physical community again.
We write so many poems
We write so many poems.
Some, like bones, protrude through thinner skin
of vulnerability and loss.
Others meander in slow-drift brooks
of thought-filled cadence.
Still others jostle, ruffians of heart, reminding
us we still have memory and expectation,
angels and devils of our days to contend with.
But, all the time, as words spill out
they grow us up, closer to the stars –
and the old light.