9/29/21 Workshop – A Poem by Ada Limón

Ada Limón

Late Summer after a Panic Attack

I can’t undress from the pressure of leaves,
the lobed edges leaning toward the window
like an unwanted male gaze on the backside,
(they wish to bless and bless and hush).
What if I want to go devil instead? Bow
down to the madness that makes me. Drone
of the neighbor’s mowing, a red mailbox flag
erected, a dog bark from three houses over,
and this is what a day is. Beetle on the wainscoting,
dead branch breaking, but not breaking, stones
from the sea next to stones from the river,
unanswered messages like ghosts in the throat,
a siren whining high toward town repeating
that the emergency is not here, repeating
that this loud silence is only where you live.
Reflective writing prompt: This is my day

 

 

One thought on “9/29/21 Workshop – A Poem by Ada Limón

  1. Cindy

    Breaking, not breaking.
    The ghosts are in my throat, in my emails, in my voicemails,
    knowing I’m already too late to get my mom a birthday gift in time,
    I’m late to do what’s due.
    Where do I begin, or not begin?
    Breaking, not breaking.
    Time is not running out, it’s already out, been out,
    beetles walking all over it.
    How to pause,
    join the rocks from river to sea,
    catch up, or instead, let them remain ghosts.

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