Poet Elizabeth Alexander says that in order to create a novel, a writer needs a lot of uninterrupted time alone. Poems, on the other hand, can be snared in the midst of the jumbled rhythms of everyday chaos — between hurried appointments or while riding the subway or at the kitchen table waiting for the coffee to brew. Alexander says that inspiration can sprout like grass poking up out of the sidewalk cracks. Whether or not you’re a writer, Sagittarius, I see your coming weeks as being more akin to snagging poems than cooking up a novel.
The snow is falling falling falling. Dark flesh sky. Streetlight seconds. Rhythm of frozen. I melt the chaos of the ordinary. I struggle to find any truth in your lies.
I ride the bus to work. I wait for the coffee to brew. I find inspiration in the sidewalk along the Winooski River. Did not think I could love that way again.
I saw her on my way to work. Canal St. introduction. My heart shall bleed right again. I turn to say, “I feel as if I should know your name.” She smiled. Agreed.