It's Still Life

I occasionally look back and wonder how thoroughly a life ties itself to loved ones, children, occupations, old enthusiasms and memories so stubborn that even time, for all its practice, cannot quite rub out.

My ink appears to know this better than I do; it noses among them without ceremony, deciding what wishes to become a poem, what prefers six sentences, and what ought perhaps to have had the good manners to remain forgotten.

Strangely, my soul is lightest at the writing table, where the past behaves less like a burden and more like a visitor willing to sit quietly while the kettle boils.

At my elbow today lies a flyer — “Six Sentence Café & Bistro Poetry Slam — 27 August” — looking innocent enough for something plainly intending to gather poets, singers, writers, musicians, courage, nerves, and possibly several regrettable metaphors into one room.

I shall be there with my words, and if yours have been pacing about inside you waiting for an unlocked door, you would be very welcome to bring them along.

If poetry is memory learning how to breathe aloud, perhaps on Thursday, 27 August we might give it a little more air … for more information, click here.