I’m celebrating National Poetry Month by writing and reading poetry, every day.
For writing inspiration, I decided to write from a list I made last month of 30 things that make me happy. One each day of the month.
Today, day six: time to read the Sunday newspaper.
The following contains a golden shovel poem in the last stanza from a headline in the April 4 issue of the New York Times. Scenes from a city holding its breath waiting for justice
Sitting with the paper.
Fresh and untouched.
Sections folded inside
one another.
Waiting to be spread out.
Held open
positioned alongside
coffee and a bagel.
Last Sunday, most Sundays, articles overwhelm me.
Others that make me laugh
or send me on journeys to books, shows, art, food.
All of the horror and beauty that make up people.
Rich, wise, devastating words.
In my quiet space scenes
unfold as I turn pages that take me from
Myanmar turn, fold, to Minneapolis a
heartbeat away. Back to the front, to a city
where ball players exert power, holding
out for Atlanta, holding on to the rights of its
people. Turn, fold, quarter the newsprint take a breath
and scan for the good, waiting
with the belief and hope for
the better side of our kind to secure justice.
To Read To Write To Be 