It isn’t written

“It isn’t written in a flash.” He was cocksure of this two-penny wisdom, but she wouldn’t hear. This was his thesis: first is the word that, like a black pearl, takes seasons to take shape, then a line that takes all our years to make, & every word is a long, long wait behind closed doors of corridors that smell of the dying & formaldehyde, glance of a fair, fair face that drowns in the dark, silent prayers for a God that should not be understood lest we nail him back to the cross many times over….A flash is a moment & a moment is a bloody lifetime, yet no poem will tell you that—it always makes itself look so commonplace, so damn easy.

From Quadratic Silences, 1991

This entry was posted in POETRY OF EDEL GARCELLANO, selected by G.Y. Guillermo. Bookmark the permalink.

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