Tuesday, April 1, 2025

poem

 The Best Thing

What if the best thing you ever did

Was a poem that, once finished,

You had to give away

Or was taken 

By whomever claimed it?

This isn’t it— don’t get excited.

All these words so far don’t count.

This isn’t the poem I was talking about.


The poem I am talking about

Lives in the recesses of unfinished

Sanctuaries where the hunted

Crouch behind blocks of broken granite.

No one thinks to look for it there

Which is why it feels so safe.


But that’s only a transition stage.

The one who knows it best 

Seizes it 

And carries it away to her lair

Where she finishes it and signs it

With a mashup of their names.


The AP wire service picks it up

And publishes it online 

Under the unverifiable byline

And it quickly goes viral.

It’s fair to say the whole world reads it

Not because they have to or want to

But because if you’ve made it this far

That's what you do. 


4/1/25

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