Friday, August 14, 2020

How To Kill a Poem (A cautionary tale)

 I killed a nascent poem today;

it hopped upon my shoulder.
Cocked its head in a curious way;
became a little bolder.

I coaxed it to my open palm,
could feel its restless toes;
assured it that I meant no harm;
that’s how seduction grows.

What happened next is far from clear,
how things between us changed.
I pounced upon its innocence
and sought to rearrange

the placement of its feathers,
the brightness of its eyes.
The shape and substance of its song
I coldly criticized.

The urge to overmaster
I no longer could resist.
It tried to fly away from me;
I squeezed it in my fist.

The minutes passed.

My hand grew cold,
for it held only death.

(so)

I tossed it on the dead poem pile
where it may join the rest.

--Deborah Barchi



No comments:

Post a Comment

The Old Wisdom

  When the night wind makes the pine trees creak And the pale clouds glide across the dark sky, Go out my child, go out and seek Your soul: ...