Our lives are held by silence. The way stubbornness holds tightly to shadows, to long-disproved beliefs. We are held, trembling, in the cupped palm of a stilled tongue. My tongue. Held. Holding. Holding all. A storyteller who can never tell her story. Because we couldn’t survive the words. Couldn’t build back the paper walls of this house, this family, this collection of strangers and beloveds. Our lives are lived in my silence.
Yes, another prose poem. Maybe I’ve chosen a form? Still waiting to see. This one feels less heavy-handed than yesterday, but still isn’t quite where I’d felt it going. And my struggle with this form has already begun. I have a strong “Am I doing it right?” thing happening. As if there is only one possible way of doing it right, as if “right” means something when it’s home. Think I need to study a little more.
Are you writing poems this month? Where can I see them? Let’s share this craziness!
As I did last year, I’ll be following along with the Poem-A-Day challenge at Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides Blog. Today’s prompt is to write a secret poem. You can post your daily poems on Brewer’s page. The top poem from each day will be included in an anthology later this year!