Irrigated Land

 

I tried for a

long time

not to

write.

 

Looked plainly at new

places, traveled without

paper, bought magazines at

airports, took

jobs that paid, dug into

the endless

domestic

day.

 

Poetry is patient. It

forgives the squander

of silent afternoons,

allows books to lie

flat or stand

straight.

 

It accepts still hands as

a passing threat and waits

its turn like an empty

drawer in an ordered

desk.

 

I must work hard. Record

these ways of saying that sound

like ways of speaking

but are also ways of

meaning.

 

Alight. Offer

the close-fitting word

to that one other

who from a plane seeks out

the unsettling sight

of green and brown

circular swathes

of irrigated

land.

 

Written April 2013

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14 thoughts on “Irrigated Land

  1. ha. cool…yes…i found poetry later in life…and it is patient and forgives us the captures we miss…my fav stanza….

    I must work hard. Record
    these ways of saying that sound
    like ways of speaking
    but are also ways of
    meaning.

    really cool rip, that…

  2. i started writing poetry about 3 years ago and now couldn’t think how it would be not to write… but think there def. can be times when it’s put on a pause… maybe forced by work or things that are just overwhelming, but yeah… i can imagine that poetry is forgiving and flows back in once we make room again..

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