The Carbon Dioxide (of Poetry)

when all the shapes of dreams

flew by outside your window

and you couldn’t catch one

to call your own,

when every

gnarly, blighted

branch of life’s undoing

rotted right up through your soles,

those pieces of poems called out,

laying dormant in blades of nevermind grass,

for you to crawl

across the grit of unholy floors,

to find grace through

time-smudged glass

and see them

beneath the soil, coiled

and waiting for you

to breathe them into birth

 

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

 

A sort of tribute to poetry itself, as it is National Poetry Month, and how poets are given poetry and with it the ability to turn pain into art.

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