Posted by: Viola | August 8, 2014

When a poem makes me cry

When a Poem Makes Me Cry

By Viola Allo

Yesterday morning. While working on a poem,
a wave of memories. Washed over me and when.
It reached the shore of my eyelids. It broke into tears.
So rarely does this happen. But when it does.
It means good things. It means the poem is good,
perhaps even great. Good in the way a poem is
when it is felt. When it does not require too much
thinking for it to be a true feeling. I once wrote a poem.
That made me cry. That was five years ago. Since then,
I have not wept with any of my poems. It’s been a while.
Yesterday, I remembered the feeling. Of weeping with a poem.
The sensation of a poem. As it falls across the brown sand
of my body. I did not have to think to feel the water. On my arms.
On my feet. In my eyes. On my hands. I did not need to consider
the ocean and what it means. I could hear the boundless talking.
All that water rushing back and forth. I knew that the poem was done.
Was ready. Was the kind of poem to open the land and pull it in and under.
And I let my limbs rise and drift along, my body in the water but facing the sun.
Sky and salt water and sand come together as one–in liquid me.
And my whole brown body becomes a fish-eye. When a poem makes me cry.


By Viola Allo. All rights reserved. Please contact the author for permission to use or share this poem.


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