an attempt to catch up – days 7,8, & 9

Ugh. Now I remember why I never do poem-a-day in November. I did write three super short pieces the last three days that were all similar, so I did a wee bit of revision and mashed them together into one piece. So now I am only one day behind and hoping to get something written this evening to remedy that.


I cannot speak.

I cannot swallow.

And I think this is

what fear is:

smooth stone lodged

in your esophagus,

waiting to work free

and nest in your belly.


The day is airy.

Spring has come early.

And I see this is

what joy is:

a circus-colored kite

in a tree, its tail waving

against a perfect sky.


Flowers still bloom,

even in the desert.

And I know this is

what faith is:

to pucker up and kiss

the cracked and cold-

sore covered lips

of the world.


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