The Place Where You Become a Poet
You find yourself in a place where
everything Echoes.
In soundless, endless hallways
and vacant rooms
furnished by their four corners.
Rooms where you can finger the pages of a book
and hear the words
being whispered.
-
You find yourself in a vacuum.
Pyrex jar of nothing.
Occupied by your aura
and yours alone.
By chance the doors don’t open
and break the solitude by corrupting silence.
Thin ice cracked
though still in tact.
-
You find yourself among a sound
captive in the purring
issued by fluorescent lamps.
A sound that drains
ink from your tongue and your pen
despite continuing attempts to carve your words
into the page.
Please, just let go.
-
You find yourself in the presence
of a spirit that knows
the mosaic of your skin.
It shares the stories
inked by your capillaries.
You have no choice but to trap the words with your pen.
Lo’ and behold
you’re a poet.
