It’s April, which means it’s … NATIONAL POETRY MONTH! Honestly, this might be my favorite month of the year besides February, and July. Oh, and there’s December, which is my birthday month. And there’s something about September, too. Anyway, April is here. Which means poetry is here. Poetry is always here, but during April it’s pushed onto the main stage to shine. So, this newsletter will be a poem. I’ve been hiding out in the woods working on some things, and, well … that’s where my head is.
BREWSTER, NY
it’s cold in the morning.
my bones are late for work
and so am i. and so i am
preparing a wood burning stove,
twisting a section of yesterday’s
and today’s times into wick and fuse,
tucking it into an iron belly,
lying logs on top and lighting.
learning a new way to warm.
it looks like sun blazing through
a small window and bullies the shiver
from the room. my bones crackle.
i am thawing and grateful for kindling,
melting awake in the morning,
glad to burn up bad news, first thing.
and trying not to think about
what else is up in flames locked
behind that door. because
it’s cold here. and i have too much
work to do to think about what’s been axed
for me to feel my fingers.
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Comments (2)
Poetry is always here! And you make it come alive. I love your poem Brewster, N.Y. I love that you turned your newsletter into a poem.
You have inspired me on this cloudy, gray, flower-less Monday morning.
Thank you Jason Reynolds.
Sincerely,
Esther Briskin
The Stove stocks luck
and luxury of styles
in its entirety
and it’s locked
any look at it
from inside can see
the lock is deadly
my dear and endures
the time to open it
up to the sky to
rain an harvest
an April cherished
tree, my ears
can’t wait to read
from AG to her best
self the day is around
the needle, woven into
the wool of fate,
righteous and we dance
oh dance to the prayer
in words of worth
and wealth to the
geography of parks
where we walk, dance
and walk again and
again for a few gems
to pass on to an end,
an afternoon of beauty