#inktober 17. SWOLLEN

 

I’m beginning to really enjoy this process. I haven’t gone back at looked at the collection of writings so far but have a growing awareness of an accumulation. It’s interesting to me that all day, I thought I had been too busy with other things to be able to think about swollen but on reflection I had in fact been focussing on it with effort! Poetry is so much about noticing or it’s where it starts. Maybe I’ll call the jotting Small Miracles, Repeat.

 

All day, I have nothing

but an oak twig covered in lichen

then, just before bed

a poem crawls out of its leaves.

 

I haven’t even been looking

at the leaves, staring instead at the woody

body, wondering where it could swell.

It couldn’t. It was dead in my mind.

 

Sometimes, I crawl out of myself

and the sturdy pain of my body

Gasps    at my audacity

but I’m already gone, breathing solo.

 

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