And I have a choice:
to back away or to turn
my back and walk away.
From what? I can’t remember.
Towards the pachysandra peeking out
from its fur coat of snow. I think
that’s where I’m going. I know I prefer
this wasteland, which changes, to the garden of paralyzed
paradise I came from.
What a wasteland.
And what a word. You know,
for years I kept the shades down, though I wanted
to see out.
Though I wanted to see out
(The pines. The hawk in circles in the sky.)
I didn’t want anyone looking in at the mess
of old poems- too big for any trashcan-
all over the floor. As if everybody didn’t know
they were there, anyway. (They did because I told them.)
Disguised or otherwise,
this life is a blessing. Even now
my God looks nothing like me.
This poem must end
Todays poetry contest submission was written by Molly Kirschner.
Do you think it could possibly be one of the best new poems of 2014?