april is national poetry month. each morning i receive the Poem-a-Day. i don’t always read them. i may have shared one or two. i came back to this place and noticed that the last few posts were lyrics, verse. time to get back to writing.
in high school i fancied myself a slam poet — it was on trend at the time. there was a movie. slam poetry was accessible to a teenager growing up in the city at a particularly diverse school. it was necessary for a teenager with tension and oppression and privilege at a particularly diverse school. i was invited to read at various events, always standing out but also fitting in. we were all angry. we were all connected. we were all alone. we spoke the same love language.
this is one of the many places i learned to read a room. read each person, as if i’d known them for years. read them cover to cover. understand what they needed. understand where we connected; observe even the faintest touch: translucent linens, hanging out to dry on a hazy, sunny morning. just a whisper and i could find the passable bridge.
this has come in handy. this has crippled me. too much all at once separates soul from body from mind from present from past. the future happens, directionless. it has come in handy: promotions, friends, safety, efficient code switches.
poetry. i had to write a poem today for work. the “spring cleaning” newsletter. i searched for “cleanse poems” and “poem purification” and “cleansing quotes” and the algorithm served were verse and rants from holistic healers peddling new life through multi-day programs and righteous theists speaking of rebirth. are these people different? some say not really.
positively spring
winds rush through my soul lifting
my spirit. relief!