Messengers

Some words are messengers . . .

1.
I send words into the world. In letters and poems, in rush and ramble, in a long steady sigh. With no expectation of reply, I send words hoping they land with goodwill and grace.*

2.
A letter returns to me: Undeliverable. The faraway friend has died.

3.
A poem comes to me in the mail. A friend has sent a poem to carry in my pocket.

4.
At the end of a writing workshop, we gather around a fire. The instructor asks us to tear pages from our notebooks and burn our work. Some writers resist. Others grimace and sigh.

I rip my pages, eager for the rush of release.

5.
Words are flying and dying, settling and soaring. On this last day of National Poetry Month, I am reminded of the many ways we tend our words — chasing, feeding, teaching, releasing.

Words are birds, writes Francisco, and whether they are accepted, rejected or rejoiced, they always leave prints that mark our way.

The world turns on words, thank you for reading & writing.

* * *

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* [ though, of course, I love responses & replies ]