Poetry

(…And it was at that age
that poetry came in search of me (1))
the words on the page
the words in the music
I was 13 and then 16
caught in a body that was
as young as it was old.
I saw the sidewalks
the people
the grime
the suffering and the beauty
I wanted it all:
to contain the world in a kiss
in a word…
the fire and the wind
the sand and the shore
the sea and the waves.

Inside my mind I began
to sing songs.
They were words
stitched together
weaving the fabric
of starry nights
of love and loss
ambition and wanderlust,
of a young woman.
There were trains and trams.
The morning bustle,
the glow of the sun on the windowpanes.
Countless experiences of love.
there was fear to be held.
A deep desire to trust.

The words became loose.
The punctuation was dropped.
It was a flowing wave of synesthesia.
It was jazz on the page.
No editing allowed.
No pauses.
Capture the moment:
carpe diem.

Note 1: Poem by Neruda

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