I write poems for money-- where the giving over is immediate, before the fact of the poem, the hill-climb of heart, the pillage of cells, the language eruption. It is all and only in response. The conversation with silence tapped out like an invisible ink, held to light. The cash-a dollar or a thousand-- simply the glow I'm held to; the person saying: 'Do it for me. Here is my door--will you open it? Hold it open for me to enter? Will you leave me there alone?' When the poem is written and I am gone, it is in the hands of the lover, as a lover leaves another behind with the satisfaction and grief of their own life, shared, but taken back ultimately into their skin. It was always yours. I only held it up to the light, I only saw it flickering, caught it like a moth in my hand and gave it back.
RONNA BLOOM is a writer, teacher, psychotherapist, and author offive books of poetry. Her most recent book is Cloudy with aFire in the Basement (Pedlar Press, 2012). She is Poet in Community to theUniversity of Toronto and Poet in Residence at Mount SinaiHospital.
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|Date:||Mar 22, 2016|
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