Hunger for Something Easier
I suppose now you'll deny it all,
there was no pig in the woods,
hair up on his back like barbed wire,
eyes sunk and runny in crusted tunnels
along the snout. And we didn’t run
through red brambles, banging our legs
against stumps until we flung ourselves
into the thorny arms of an apple tree.
You'll say we didn't stay shoved up
against the bark breathing bright spice
and pitching green fruit to frighten away
the pig. You'll never say you were afraid
or that I held you and you held me
and we crouched on the thin branches
until night slunk in, and a hunger
for something easier turned the pig away.
from Tongue, Red Hen Press, 2010
Rachel Contreni Flynn
The good angel
The one I wanted came,
the one I called.
Not the one who sweeps away defenseless skies,
stars without homes,
moons without a country,
The kind of snows that fall from a hand,
Not the one who tied death
to his hair.
The one I wanted.
Without scraping air,
without wounding leaves or shaking windowpanes.
The one who tied silence
to his hair.
To scoop out, without hurting me,
a shoreline of sweet light inside my chest
so that my soul could sail.
Translated by Mark Strand
I think that poetry is mysterious and essential.
A wonderful and surprising image seems to have a taste: like dates eaten out of a copper bowl.
The best poetry advice I ever got was from Chris Forhan, Say the strange thing, then don't explain yourself.
My first experience with poetry was listening to my Grandma recite Edna St. Vincent Millay poems in her sun-filled sewing room.
I wrote the main section of my book, Tongue, in 4 days of solitude in 2008 and don't think I've quite recovered yet.
My favorite poem might be The Good Angel.
"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else." -- ED
I have recieved some of the happiest poetry news in the midst of caring for others. Coincidence? Read here. http://www.arts.gov/features/writers/writersCMS/writer.php?id=07_06