They say, Don’t write a poem if you have nothing to say. Don’t speak to fill silence. So I stay quiet. Let silence put its arms around my neck and kiss me on the head. Poems itch at my fingertips and I run the pinpricks of them on the walls. Bloody walls in my bloody room. I am redecorating with Poetry. I am sunning myself with Poetry. I am watching Poetry fawn over the roses and ah, there’s the spot, the rosebud has been touched, my back arches on the roof, shingles leave scratch marks on my skin, and it’s all because of Poetry. I am dipping my whole body in Poetry and out I come, a blue pebble, still smelling of lake, still coated in algae. It’s a new year, it’s a new me. My lake is sparkling, my lake is in the stacks of plastic water bottles filling my garage, my lake is a metaphor, dive into me. Dive into me, and pick the algae from my lakebed. Fashion a crown out of it and wear it to all the music festivals, and when they throw their flowers at your feet, pant my name. Let blue and green sunned pebbles fall around their feet. Tell them you got them from me.” - Lake water, Lora Mathis
Posted on: Wed, 07 Jan 2015 00:30:12 +0000
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