Poetry can be a delicate thing, with each word, even the placement of such words, often having a very specific reason for being. The balance can be fragile, easily tipped, yet very strong when rooted properly. Likewise, featuring the work of a poet has similar perils. The mere act of trying to define a style runs the risk of coloring in spaces the don’t belong to you and therefore jeopardizing the foundation of the poetry.
That being the case, it’s best that you explore a poet’s work on your own, without someone else advising you to study the iambic pentameter or reflect upon the allegorical references. One word can mean many different things to many different people. And that, in essence and in one sense, is what makes for good poetry. The reader should be able to study the tapestry of words and pick out the threads that make a pattern they can own, however briefly. In the following piece, which could be about a number of things, Michnavs accomplishes just that. Enjoy.
Wake up Dreaming
She was broken. Beautiful, but
broken. Nobody noticed.
He was magical. Shabby, but magical. Nobody cared.
They met in the least likely place. They met in a dream. In a large, furnished room with a king- sized
at the center, where they had both opened their eyes to find themselves lying next to each
wearing nothing but the clothes they had slept in.
Neither of them panicked. Because they were aware that it was a dream. A dream where whatever
happened couldn’t affect their reality.
They shared multiple eternities in that dream.
The first eternity they remained in bed, staring at each other. Never moving closer, but never moving away, either. And never making sound.
The second eternity, they spent rationalizing their situation.
“I think we’re dead,” she said.
He smiled., “Really? I was hoping maybe a coma or a Saturday sleeping in or something.”
She shook her head, the side of her face brushing her pillow back and forth. ” I don’t sleep in on Saturdays. Or any day. And we’re too aware for this to be a coma. Coma means brain damage.”
He snuggled deeper into the mattress thoughtfully. “Hmm. Then maybe we’re dead.”
She sighs. ” I can’t believe I wasted thirteen sleepless nights on a speech just to die before I deliver it.”
He laughed. “You’re worried at undelivered speech? I was two days away from marrying my girlfriend before i woke up here.”
The third eternity, they decided to get up.
(Written in response to NovemberNotes challenge by Sarah of Heartstring Eulogies and Rosema of A Reading Writer)
You can peruse more of Michnavs’ work by clicking here. If you have comments specifically for Michnavs, please be gracious enough to make them on the original post found here so Michnavs can be assured of receiving your feedback.
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