poems
it’s funny
we speak
nod our heads
and smile
but our only form of conversation is through poems
words that weave and float and fly
deciphering is required
but often there’s no time —
there are buses to catch
movies to watch
drinks to drink
and the house needs a good spring cleaning
I hear the poems
but how will I know if I’ve understood your metaphors
and you, mine?
when I say
I walked into the room
what part will you understand?
when you say
my breath disappears from view
what will it mean to me?
—Helen Boettcher