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In Celebration of National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month! The annual celebration of this beautiful art form was inaugurated in 1966 by the American Academy of Poets with the hopes of spreading the words of extraordinary American poets, encouraging the reading of poems, increasing attention surrounding poetry in media and art, and promoting increased circulation and publication of poetry. 

In accordance with this mission, I thought I’d share some of my own original works and challenge those of you out there in Haverford community to submit your own in honor of the splendor of poetry and poets in our community and beyond. 

“Bossy”

Do my breasts make me bossy,

or is it the curve of my thighs?

The sway in my hips

when I walk with gusto

is not a performance

 

So I decree:

I can no longer

bite my tongue

There is no currency left

To censor my steadfast thoughts,

beliefs, opinions

My cup runneth over

 

I do not have to burn my bras

I am no less entitled

to my womanhood

There is no shadow

you could cast

to diminish my substance 

 

“Driftwood” 

Almost lover

Did my mouth breach yours

Or was that another fabrication 

A figment of my overactive imagination

Something melodic about the way words depart from your lips

As if they could be the remedy

Waking up to the face of obscured winter sun 

net-like screen, cracked open window at my bedside

Could reality pick up 

Where my unconscious trailed off… 

 

You were standing there on the bank

Driftwood surrounded you like a carcass

In your calloused hands

You held the end of the thread

While northeastern winds swept up 

The four corners of the kite 

The look on your face seemed to suggest 

you will always keep me strung along 

 

I will view you there on the bank 

Scattered with discarded beer cans and sea glass

Beckoning you to reel me in 

Shield me from the autumn wind

 

But the gust you leave me in

Each time you release me 

Cuts deeper 

than the shards of unrequited affection 

That build up like plaque

In the arteries of my dilapidated heart 

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