I forgot what it was like to talk
Like we used to in school-day recess
The words intersecting endlessly
No beginnings in sight.
I forgot how to write a poem
Though surely this looks like one.
In its heart is fear of telling
You what it thinks it knows and wants.
I want to remember what we talked about
On the bench in between the ringing bells
The space filled with murmurs and giggles,
Our stomachs with juice, our heads, love.
How did we do it without knowing
The rules or making them?
What to say, when to pause,
Who must speak with whom?
How did I learn to write a poem
Without knowing what it meant?
—Razel Estrella (2020)
28 April 2020
Murmur: Relearning poetry and conversations
They say that all poetry is an ars poetica. Well, I've drafted my first poem in years this morning. And while I have several concepts, lines and verses in my notebook, I only got around to sitting down and following through one of them today. Guess what, it's a blatant ars poetica.
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