Sometimes
sometimes
in the middle of the night
a bad poem will wake
screaming “burn me”
But then
i just have to ask
how do you know without
sitting quiet
for a bit?
sometimes
in the middle of the night
a good poem cries
to be heard
i can pretend not to know
But then
I silently turn the page
and wipe you away
so I can feel
the depth of my sorrow
the height of my ecstasy
the flush of
rage, of love
the whirlpool of my
words, just out of reach
trying for meaning
metaphors in soaring flight
But then
in the middle of the night
sometimes
a poem survives
Copyright © Jeanne Mcgee | Year Posted 2020
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