When I’m told the answer is something I already know

“I can’t see unless I see differently.” ~ Kazim Ali, Silver Road

How many times I’ve tried
to undo repetition— the knots

sliding down the chain ahead
of the bead, weeds springing up

in defiance of the plastic jug
of vinegar and epsom salts.

And every shelf in this house
is lined with another kind

of repetition: pages and pages
and words through which I’ve tried

to harness something of time
with my hands. When I fall silent

which is often these days, I’m
caught in the pause waiting

for the sound that owls make,
mournful in the trees; for rouge

on the breast of a herald
bird— Another day it was

a woodpecker I heard, tapping
the same key over and over

into the heart of the question
I can’t for the life of me answer.

1 Comment


  1. How lovely. I wrote to my sister Lydia in New Jersey this evening, and asked her to read some of your poetry posted on line. I included the fact that you have written a poem everyday since November 2010. I look forward to your book signing at The Muse this weekend. As a new reader of poetry, I am left speechless by your imagery, imagination, and the sheer beauty of your words.

    Reply

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