Now I have powers of a poet's body.|
I walk my talk. I march free speech
and peace on streets of blind traffic
and road rage and cellphones and
bad fuel economy. Where I go many go,
though all seem to go in silence and alone.
Sometimes I go unheard
for weeks, months, years on end.
My feet fall silent as trees
falling in the forest. My feet
fall silent as nurses' shoes in hospitals
where freedom lies in its bodycast.
The corridors of power
ring more like echo chambers. The feet
of the quiet have no purchase there.
Occasionally there is a ping in the void
like a submarine's sonar. But it's only one ping
and the void is large as the night.
Nevertheless there are poets walking,
and each one walks her power,
walks it against the stream of endless traffic,
walks it past the pain of freedom in its bodycast,
walks it toward that ping in the void, where trees fall
and other trees can hear.
· · · · · ·
Poetry on Swans
Sabina Becker is a poet and a writer who lives in Cobourg, Ontario with her computer, her books and her cats. In addition to her regular contributions to Swans, you can see more of her work at http://www.sabinabecker.com.
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