The Thing About Poets…

the thing about poets…

we see all colors
yet
we see none

we create lines
yet
we push minds’ boundaries

we see tomorrow
yet
only the truth of today

 

~ Emily C.

8.6.17

***

I was overcome today by the feeling of community in the Instagram poetry world (and WordPress, too), when I paused to appreciate that we support one another regardless of race, ethnicity or gender. Yes, there are some trouble makers and trolls, like everywhere, but on the whole, as poets we see the beauty in everyone’s heart. And some hearts are dark and troubled, some are open and light, but we hold each other with love, regardless.

 

 

 

 

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The Watchers

Russian, on the trails.
In the fields, Spanish
To my right. German
To my left. Somewhere
Else, unintelligible due
To distance and the wind
Distorting vowels
And consonants into rolling
Rumbles. My ears
Receive it all, like
Symphonic speech,
Punctuated
By

A baby’s wail,

The Universal language
Of all humanity.
An immigrant carries
A backpack cooler
To a family picnic,
It is covered in
Stars and Stripes.

None of us are American.

The train carrying mysteries
To the Canadian border,
Rumbles under the pedestrian
Bridge. It blows its horn
Like a wave hello
To the watchers. They stand
Peering through the chain link
Holes, like fish coming up
For air, lips pushing through
Fence, eyes keenly zeroing.
The rush.
Then gone.
Back to beach. To rocks.
To shells buried, cracked,
Dead, still alive.
Mountains watch us,
Their peaks sentries. Guarded.
Guarding the open sea, a
Partition between our hearts
And the vastness they know
Our limited consciousness
May not be able to see.
See but not see.
None of us are what
The other believes.

We are each other.
English now. Italian.

Human.

Emily C.

7.30.17