Last poem of the April draft-a-day challenge! "It's been real," as my mother used to (embarrassingly) say to store clerks.
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While Reluctant to Use the Word Sing, I Am Content to Say Hum
Do starlings argue about whether to put a change
jar in the bedroom? Would a starling sit on the couch
wanting to make poems of birds and light? I can hear
the city grinding itself into the earth, making something
living of itself and airplanes dropping soot from blue
blue sky. Everything is shining and in pain.
(The little girl yesterday at the restaurant looked
at me, then asked her parents, Are the grownups
going to die? Her father-- Don't worry about it.)
It's hard to be loving all the time. Let's try.
Thanks for writing all these poems! It's been a treat to check on them eveyday...and there are some real gems in here.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading them, Tracy. It was tough. I realized a lot about how my mind works (and doesn't work) in trying to finish a draft every day. For example, it made me realize how it's valuable to have some "write every day" pressure, but that I love letting things simmer for a while and drawing connections that emerge over time . . .
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