I lost a poem.
Mind you,
the last time I had it
was on the corner of
Jellicoe and Oxford, turning
right. I thought I had stuffed it
into my bag of memory,
but this morning
when I scratched amongst
the paper slips, receipts and echoes
of yesterdays conversations–
I just. could. not. find it.
Can’t put my finger on it
in this wordless pit of grime
that collects at the bottom of my knowing.
Mind full.
Chewey sweets and
broken endearmints, glossy coins,
shadowed eyes
pigment scattered everywhere
Who’s to say what it was worth?
the Nobel or the Nothing?
Was it stillborn loss or merely menstruation?
Is it now a blessing or a curse
ghosting about, seeking its maker?
Thought I would clear things out,
allow its rise again, but
it’s not in the emptiness
of yoga either, even though I
stretch and stretch
sweat dripping on the mat
no mind
breath on my tongue,
no mind
Ohmmmm in my throat.
oh my
All I can remember is
there was
a scrap of sense
to it.
Nevermind.
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