POETRY IS SHRIVELED

Poetry is shriveled.
We see it in the
decreasing turnouts at poetry readings,
at spoken words,
with small numbers of audience members.

But that’s not right- poetry was never very visible.
I mean, look at how many poets
were published 200 years ago, - it’s not many.
No, No, No, that’s not right! There were hundreds!
There were hundreds, they just weren’t published.

And there are hundreds of poets, today.
they are riding on the trains
they are sitting on the bleachers of games,
they are writing things down on paper
on phones, and in their minds.

The roots of poetry are not so small,--
you are just seeing the little bit that’s not hidden,

And that little bit that you can see is not shriveled,
It is weathered.

Because poets don’t hide from their feelings,
they throw themselves into the storm
where they are battered and bandied around.

They return from the fray with scars, and with joints out of place
because they are not hiding from their inside feelings.
They are living in the violence of the world.

So when you look around the room and think
that poetry is shriveled - it is not. It is just weathered.
It is out there, and it is stronger than those
who have never lived in the storm, realize.