The first poem attempted in honour of National Poetry Month was written all in one sitting at my favourite café, by hand, in real ink on real paper, and filled 15 pages of my new notebook (a gorgeous false memory of a Byzantium that might have been, gifted to me by a friend). The poem is far too long to post as text, but I have plans for it that involve the rendering of sound into digital form and various other devious machinations, none of which are quite at the ready stage yet. So for today, there is something very short, and bitter-sweet. I would have aimed for something hopeful, or silly, or bright in that way that fanfares of trumpets are, but this is where things live, and have lived for weeks, and maybe for a long time to come, so this is what there is. Happy Poetry Month, everyone; and may your dreams be filled with words and wonder, and some amount of peace.
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I heard her voice again, today
when everyone else was sound asleep;
Funny how the empty space
where something should be, but isn’t
can follow you around.
– T.H.
