a poem about writing a poem #457

This is the quick of it:
the part no one tells you of; the sliding
into a comfortable calibration,
the seat where you can string and string the words along,
and it sounds j u s t r i g h t
—no papa bear or baby bear bullshit.

And you will find (like I have) that after a while
there are strange blooms that sprout
in the least likely crevices of your body
and you will pluck them off and put them on paper and they will all just fit:
Like lacing your shoes
after learning to walk.

© Alexandra Jema

8 thoughts on “a poem about writing a poem #457

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