Thursday, March 15, 2018

Change back


Today I would like to sit on the park bench and talk with Emily Dickinson. We would talk about writing. We would talk about what a very few words can do. Maybe we wouldn't say much at all. She would understand the very clutteredness of Lent. She would understand the irony, the almost sigh of relief when Easter comes.

Everyone it seems
Produces extra things
For Lent:
More words and poems
Fill the mailbox
Fill my head
Fill my heart
Connections become
Somehow imperative
In these forty days,
In this wilderness,
In this damned March snow.
It is as if
This is the only time
Anyone really pays attention
Quick
Quick
It’s Lent
Quick
Easter is coming.
Then it will be
Too late.

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