And Sing
You must learn to function in the world
before you earn the right to retreat. If not,
you’ll never get the language right. And the
last thing we need is another child of privilege
blowing smoke up our skirts.
Learn the rules. Then move beyond freeways
and screens and bury the rules in a pine box.
Ship it down a stolid creek after a rain storm.
Then stand poetic as petrichor fills your lungs,
and sing soft in fine fettle.
Sad but true. Those blasted rules must be learned. Thank God for the retreat!
I seldom subscribe to any blogs as time is too precious but your words are a gift- every time a precious gift that blesses me with each line and raw proclamation
thank you
had to look that one up – how lovely to have a word for that smell, that refreshment. and yes, i’d like to sing soft.
I think it is beautiful. I also have a knot in my stomach and a tear in my eye. The poem is truth and it scares me because I have a mental illness called O.C.D. and also suffer from Major Depression. My hearts could burst into nothingness.