Ars Poetica: Homecoming

Standard

So I write madly
ushering the words out of my fingertips
no need for rain like shard of ice outside.
It’s already cold.
I’m already imagining tea
and one of the quilts my grandmother
spotted in the bins at Goodwill
promptly forgot
and spotted again.
An aged mind
not like good wine
but a constant inspiration
about the tragedy of a life long lived.

So I write
consider the consequences
of particular observations
and line break to remind myself
that I was a poet
once.

Whatever this is,
it is reentry
not a flourish.
Surely, I am pleased with myself;
homecomings are a pleasure.

Advertisements

2 responses »

I Will Definitely Read What You Write Here

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s