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ars poetica, 2019

ISSUE:  Summer 2021


a woman who doesn’t read             many poems asks                       is poetry meant to be 

inaccessible       if she’s supposed to feel                               caught in a thicket 

without a boned shiv                       to free herself and          no one near enough

to offer their blade               trapped in the tangle                   as language vines

her neck               to choke her out         or fold her weary        from all the sensory 

wrestling              I tell her absent sight                      sound serves      touch matters

that she might bend                             bramble away                 move to the quiet clearing

                                                  every poem has them

pockets of air                                                                                where lightning twice strikes



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