Thursday, April 16, 2015

NaPoWriMo - day sixteen


they thought they had the answer.
they wouldn’t allow for questions.
they silenced the writers and poets,
put the singers in cells without windows,
placed chains on the dancers’ ankles,
broke the musicians’ fingers.

all this work, all this attention,
all their missionary zeal for nought.
what result were they hoping for?
what did they believe would come of this?

perhaps they wanted to protect the heart,
prevent the soul from sicknesses.
perhaps they were afraid of carrying burdens,
passing judgement on the fruits of too much passion.

Singing the Pain Back in the Wound by Gregory Orr - NPM16

I crouch naked at the wound's edge
and call its name softly,
until it hovers over me and I am clothed
in its shadow. Then I throw ropes
over it, pulling it down into the wound
that its body fits perfectly
like a fish-shaped cork.
Its wings beat frantically. I lash them together,
fold them carefully into a black
bundle on its back.
Orr, Gregory "Singing the Pain Back into the Wound" Burning the Empty Nests. Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1997. 53.