POETRY RESISTANCE

Some days the poetry resists my calling it
what muses there be are silent and have nothing to say
on these days, like this one, I just sit or pack
or sort through clothes or play on Facebook 
or think of lovers who held me tightly and delighted in it
or watch Law & Order: Criminal Intent

I listen and the wind doesn't even whistle
I traipse up and down the basement stairs as I bring
the remains of my home into this space to properly
put it away or to decide whether this, too, needs to be given away
there is no poetry in this moment, only the stump tap tamping
of feet on stairs on floor to the next floor and back down again
with memories and conversations swirling in my head and I resist
the urge to read old words or to recount scenes so full of energy
I feel them if I let myself linger there long enough

but I resist as much as the poetry resists my fingers on keys
the tap tap of words without looking/trying to remember
when and how I learned this skill--typing without looking
looking without typing without thinking because thinking
sometimes lead to tears and tears lead to wailing and I don't
have time for wailing because the boxes need filling and the clothes
sorting and given away or packed away or put in a suitcase
that will live in my car since I have no idea 
where I will be besides the airplane
the train or the car or the park 
where I'll walk when I'm not writing poetry 
that resists coming to me 
or writing sermons that speak of god and god's world
and ways and my hope that I tell some truth 
when I preach but in this moment before the day ends 
I just sit and tap my fingers on keys and without thinking
let whatever come up come out 

and I know that's always a dangerous
thing because wise people know 
to censor themselves when the poetry
is in resistance mode--
there's no kind way to say 
the nasty things that live
on the edge of insanity 
as a student said today--"the edge of insanity"
though seems to be the place where poetry dwells 
and maybe that's the reason
it's silent today--today I don't want to be crazy 
as I am.

Today I just want to pack and sort and pray and think of you

© Valerie Bridgeman
March 20, 2013