|Rowing Home by Winslow Homer (1890)|
Hunger for poetry is a larger hunger --
not for beauty nor for truth, but
for the alchemy of arriving there
in the caverns of our own bodies.
Poetry is the craft, the boat on the river
of language, the river between
consciousness and sub consciousness
and even unconsciousness
Whether or not that craft arrives,
whether or not you remember boarding
or disembarking, riding the craft
opens doors of possibility.
And so we take up the oars or
we find a seat. Whether we indulge
in sweat or stillness or swim off the stern—
we have made the leap, and we eat.
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
© 2019 Susan L. Chast