|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
Half of what we say is meaningless but the truth is part of the cliché.
More of what we say is final but we lead others to believe it’s not.
Little of what we say is genuine but we wrap ourselves around it while it sleeps.
So much of what I say is manners. Credence to the jazz greats who
talk with their mouths.
I know that if I fall between the cushions I’ll find a way to drag
but I still follow myself to the bathroom in the mornings and brush my teeth
When we align ourselves with the way the sky unfolds,
children will fall into the places they wish to be. Fat fingers
will fit the strings of guitars and skinny legs will score
touchdowns. All towns will have welcome home signs
and resident musicians with love songs.
Child, I’m not asking you what you want to be when you grow up. I’m
asking you what you’d like to do now, near
and the chalk
and the silly bow ties being scraped
from small necks and thrown
to the dogs.
About Sarah Ghoshal