World Poetry Day

Reading to you, I come to the word sacred and there’s a catch in my throat, I come to the word habit and you smile without opening your eyes. I hear myself reading—too grave, I think—and the computer humming on the floor next to my feet. At your feet, 3600 miles away, the dog doesn’t stir.

It’s later there than here, and the poem is a long one. By the time I finish, your face has blurred and frozen on my screen, and I startle when you speak—your mouth hasn’t moved. Your eyes remain shut. It’s as if I’m hearing your thoughts.

That was like an incantation.

Almost like a spell, yes. And by the way, you’re not moving again.

I watch entranced as you switch your camera off and on, and after a few seconds of the slow-spinning O, you’re back, and grinning. I remember that stanza means room. Thanks to the magic of poetry and the internet, you in my box and I in yours can together tour the same, strange castle.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

4 Comments


  1. It’s an intimate moment shared from miles away, probably worlds away. I’m not sure where you are and where the other is, but it has to be more intimate than a room full of people with laptops and smartphones, having dozens of conversations and no one is talking to each other. I love the use of poetry here.

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  2. How real we have become
    as one another’s ghosts
    listening to crickets
    three thousand miles apart

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