In honor of the new year, I thought I’d share something a bit different in this post. I like to think of this as a “metapoem”: a poem about the experience of writing a poem.
I hide my poems
while they’re still bloody,
wait for my flesh to re-knit itself
into an untroubled whole,
wait until my words no longer throb
like a fingernail jammed backward,
in sync with each beat of my heart.
I leave them shut in the dark
gestating between pages,
then birth the poem again
when I revise.