When I Am Not a Poet

Poem

photo from personal archive

when i am not a poet,
i am the wall in my room.
the one split so subtly no one sees,
the one where you hang photos
of your darlings, smiling.

sometimes,
i am just empty.
that’s alright.

in the bedroom,
i’m not moving.
in the bedroom,
the ceiling is the closest thing to me.
that’s alright.
the work is done.

i am collecting things –
things no one wants anymore.
a little glass medicine bottle,
on which they wrote
keep out of reach.
i am a good disciple.
i keep out of reach.

i can be a thing,
can drop myself.
can be kept from light
all my short life,
waiting for sunlight.

sometimes
i’m a dinner table
missing all the chairs.
that’s alright.
this reminds me
there is still a purpose.