April 2019 . . . .

National  Poetry Month”

     It’s a thing and I’m not cynical about it, nor snide, nor dismissive, nor judgmental. I do wonder why it’s national. If there is anything not bound by the rules of law or markings on a map, it’s poetry. Poetry bends its knees to a higher authority — form and image and rhythm and beauty. It knows no boss or dictator or critic that it consistently respects — despite what you learned with your Norton open to page 277. Poetry only knows the love that you have for that piece that breaks your heart every time, or makes you laugh when you didn’t think you would again, or because she wrote it and that means everything. Poetry is only personal, it is only what you like, and doesn’t actually care why. You don’t have to explain yourself to poetry. All else is commentary, as Dad used to say. Just noise.

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April 2019