i’m almost afraid to say the word out loud. not in any connection to me. i have friends who have been declarative – insistent that i claim an old moniker…poet. i’m more hesitant. fearful that by saying it it will blow away like ash or dandelion fluff. scattering to the wind with no way to retrieve it.

but i do find myself describing the world through a poet’s voice. and it feels good. like an old friend who understands me and comforts me and helps me understand.

so for the last few weeks i’ve been writing these cluster of words down, passing them on to friends for earnest reactions. i can’t say they are good…only that they reflect feelings that i’m not quite sure what to do with.

i haven’t written consistently in about 8 years. when i think of it in those terms it pains me. i realize that poetry…my tool for reflecting on the world – for holding it at bay…is a part of me that i really liked that has been dormant.

at the same time i wonder if it its recent reappearance speaks to my state of mind. i wrote in college – on and off through peace corps…each were trying times in my life in different ways. i wonder…

wondering aside…i’m happy to have my words. scattered and stuttering as they come. i feel a little wholer (i’m taking poetic license here) and at the very least more in touch – with me. so call it poetry, call it a jumble of words. i call it a sliver of peace in the crazy.

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