Sometimes,
it’s not enough
to write a poem.
……………………………………….
“Feel it on your back,”
she told me
from the church cellar.
“Know it by name,”
he whispered
through the garden;
he chased the snake
but only I could tell.
“Let it loose,”
she sang,
leading the students to the edge,
bird cage in hand,
lowering her fingers to the door.
Sometimes,
it’s not enough
to listen to a poem.
…………………………………………
“Jump into the sea!”
he screams to me,
head rolling with a laughter
children know at dawn,
no midnight mass approaching.
“Hold onto your hat!”
she begs of me
on the local F train,
subway cars dashing past
and claiming my wear with it.
“Don’t open your eyes!”
states the man
sitting on his box, NW side,
poking the sidewalk
with a stick,
just as he has
every Wednesday I have seen him,
handed him a banana and ran.
Sometimes,
being the poem
is not enough.
……………………………………..
“Open the box
dear-
and, of course,
open your eyes…”
October 3, 2015
