Tuesday, March 11, 2008

On being a Poet

(I'm soaking my necklace in coca-cola)

I thought it could be
the tilt of my hat
or the way I held my glass
but the words kept interfering
trying to tell me something else

even when I gave up wearing black
words did not give up on me
& my fishnets have long
been hidden in a drawer
along with my feather boa

this flamboyance once needed
to be a part of the act
as if these props & the bottle of Chablis
were all that kept me writing

now I notice lines of determination
etched into my face, drawing down
my mouth into mean & ugly
or tilting my eyes to laughter
joyful, derisive

& the words keep coming
spilling over the pages
create their own life
ask their questions, like
where are you taking us now?

Judith

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