That Word
Where did that word come from? I’ve asked this
of myself many times -- the word that just slipped out,
unbidden as an expletive you haven’t used in years –
but now, this word you’ve never used in a poem before
has hopped aboard the rolling poem and, strangely, adds
a pleasing ride and comfort and sound that was not there.
And when the final word falls into place in the poem’s
last line with the sound of a latch on a closing gate,
only then can you ask yourself where it came from
and marvel, as you’ve often done, over the fuzziness
of origins, and especially, that the word arrived at all.
of myself many times -- the word that just slipped out,
unbidden as an expletive you haven’t used in years –
but now, this word you’ve never used in a poem before
has hopped aboard the rolling poem and, strangely, adds
a pleasing ride and comfort and sound that was not there.
And when the final word falls into place in the poem’s
last line with the sound of a latch on a closing gate,
only then can you ask yourself where it came from
and marvel, as you’ve often done, over the fuzziness
of origins, and especially, that the word arrived at all.
by Glen Sorestad
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