.
.
Letting go
In order to hold one
I gradually understand
How poems are made.
.
There is a place the fear must go.
Letting go
In order to hold one
I gradually understand
How poems are made.
.
There is a place the fear must go.
There is a place the choice must go.
There is a place the loss must go.
The leftover love.
The love that spills out
Of the too full cup
And runs and hides
Its too full self
In shame.
.
.
I gradually comprehend
How poems are made
To the upbeat flight of memories.
The flagged beats of the running
Heart.
.
I understand how poems are made.
They are the tears
That season the smile.
The stiff-neck laughter
That crowds the throat.
The leftover love.
I know how poems are made.
.
.
There is a place the loss must go.
There is a place the gain must go.
The leftover love.
.
~ Alice Walker
.
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