No Foolin'

So tell me... Did you know April is National Poetry Month? I certainly did not, at least not until I stumbled across several references to it this weekend.

April is also the month of my birthday, which is only days away. I am, of course, giddy with relief at surviving yet another year. Of course, I'd be much more giddy if I was somewhere far away and tropical... but back to the matter at hand.

I'll forego my annual "We're Pregnant!" April Fool's joke this year (for which my mother will thank me). Instead, I offer a poem I wrote recently. Yes, I do sometimes write poetry. I like to think that after I'm gone someone will discover the scattered scrawlings and declare me a dead genius. Because being a dead genius is a convenient way to dodge all the pressure inherent in being one while alive.

Then again, I'll be dead, so it really won't matter if I'm just declared "Dead Crazy Scribbling Lady With Many Many Cats And A Husband Who Went On To Marry A Victoria's Secret Underwear Model". So we'll just stick with "Future Dead Genius". I might even have to put that on a T-shirt.

In any case:

Of Prophets and Poets


sculpting words
trim and discard
shape and smooth

cast ashes of body
distillation of soul
refined in sorrow
to the vastness of time

searching, grappling
to name the unknowable
to touch the face of eternity.

And Yet.

And yet, the Prophet.
listening, eyes closed
to the crush of the tide
walks onward in faith
to where the sand
meets the shore
at the end of the world

where life
is but a test
the painful birth
before the endless waking dream

And yet.

And yet, the Poet.
looking, eyes wide
hears the crush of the tide
tumbles on the breeze
to where the sand
meets the shore
and the shore meets the sky

where life
is truth
and living it
the only dream

-MRK, 2007