Sometimes, the poetry Muse leaves you alone for months at a time. You try very hard to call this experience “the fallow time”. But you’re secretly sure she will never return… , Like that rider in the subway below Boston, ‘her fate… still unlearned…’
Other times, the Muse takes you by the scruff of the neck. This September, and even tiptoeing back into August, nights have tended to be poetry-ridden.
If you’re very lucky, you have poet friends who will generously suggest simple but essential changes. One of my great life gifts is Betty Lies. Her delicate ‘removal of the on-ramp’ significantly strengthened this new one.
hard to imagine
this dark circle
once spewed light
let alone ignited dreams
–flames audible as some distant bell
tugging its train of memories and hopes
figures danced here
nourishments were transformed
smoke itself spicing the empty air
sift through silken ashes
CAROLYN FOOTE EDELMANN