April 12 poem

After a zoom meeting where our colleague read a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye

In a room of four

I listened to more

than words and form.

Living sounds, warm

as a heart. Long

tear tracks, strong

lines hold together

a flow, a living tether.

Note: Rhyme mystifies me. I knew I wanted to make space for this specific memory to be honored beyond the moment, and it's solid enough to withstand the practice. I pulled some prompts for myself and got:

4 stanzas

short, end-rhymed couplets

on the theme of "tears become lines in the poem"

This is the third draft & I will revisit it, I think. Perhaps in a different form, perhaps with different words

💞