I wrote this poem in the exhilaration of a new friendship by an ever-renewing sea. For a moment it seems that this fresh encounter is vital enough to wash away old wrongs and regrets. Actually, though, it contains the past within it, as shown by what they see -- the comet that spins for centuries before it shines.
Grace Schulman on "Meteor" |
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Celebrate National Poetry Month with Our Readers
"Late afternoon. An old blue bus heads west, windshield flashing pink. Fog moves in, settles on hens’ feathers, grey cabbages. The bus stops for lone travelers. The passengers settle down, quiet conversations run together. Suddenly the bus stops with a jolt. A moose looms in the middle of the road, approaches the bus, sniffs the bus’s hot hood. Passengers whisper, 'high as a church,' 'homely as a house,' 'otherworldly.' The bus fills with a sweet sensation of joy. I see it all.
I feel it all. I am there on this journey with its moment of joy."
Antonia Matthew |
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"RFK Jr. Says There Are No Autistic Poets. We Asked an Autistic Poet. "
"There are many autistic poets. There’s already a call for a special issue of poetry by autistic poets that will pay those poets just to do an autistic resistance. There are poets writing short poems just to help all of us recover from this person with a great deal of power saying our lives are worth nothing. He’s trying to eradicate support, especially with education, that could help people live the kind of lives where they do get to write poetry."
viaMOTHER JONES |
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