#NaPoWriMo - day twenty

Dear Ms. Smith. Miss Smith? Mrs. Smith?
I only know you as poet, Patricia.
I’m reading The Intentions of Thunder
and I’m pummelled. Pummelled.
 
I’m drawn in by the language while
also distanced from it. I discover
how white I am. And Canadian.
I’m trying to hear the chorus.
 
How can a poem be so deeply rooted.
How does the voice move around
from body to body. Poetic forms
structure the narrative. Declare:
 
How poetry is always a witness.
What are we looking for. What
are you looking at. Are you looking.
How can you bear it. How long.