Don't Count

 

source

 
If I counted my friends by who reads my poems
I could count them on one hand.  Or maybe,
these folks are only those who tell me so.
I couldn’t count the trees I never see.
 
And yet here come the words regardless of
popularity or expanding audiences,
here come the words.  One friend said she loved me,
but could not read poems—especially mine. 
 
“You’d want me to talk about them,” She said,
“but I don’t like poems except for those of
Shakespeare, Mozart, Emily Dickinson
and Edward Gory.  Sorry.”  We both laughed.
 
I want conversation, I crave it—true. 
I’m a person of words.  Kindness would work—
just tell me what touched you, if something did.
My mom says, “Images.  You don’t write them.”
 
So I wander among the trees, and some
of them are poets.  Those that greet me say
“Write now for seven generations hence. 
Have that much hope.  Let them know we exist.”
 
I say it’s a good thing I’m a hermit. 
It’s good to occupy time with joy that’s
both avocation and ministry.  It’s
good to be alive and have good friends.

 

Reposted from my blog for Sumana's open prompt at What's Going On?

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2023 Susan L. Chast