L.L. Barkat is the author of Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity & Writing as well as two spiritual memoirs Stone Crossings: Finding Grace in Hard and Hidden Places, and a book of poetry Inside Out: Poems,. She is also a Small Press publisher, the Managing Editor for TSPoetry.com, and the creator and manager of Every Day Poems.
My little heel-wings are not made of feathers:/
they are made of tongues…
Maybe in a decade I will, belatedly, surge with political passion or faint from shock or love. One cannot predict what ten years of after-bath French will do to a person.
Why devote a year to a stunt? Wasn’t there something inherently suspect about that? Might it not be a waste of time?
Why try to master these things called words? Isn’t writing an art? Doesn’t that mean we can just let things pour out as they will?
I am thinking of buying a pistol. Because, today, my stove unilaterally changed its clock to military time. (Just what, I ask, must a stove be planning, to take such measures?)
On a day when I am overwhelmed and cannot think of a single thing to write about, the cabbage presents a challenge to tell the world that the writer is never at a loss.
Snow has fallen on Penn Avenue/ as golden morning, fallen, melting/ and I walk past Heinz dead sign/ pouring wishes red by ruffled bird
A long time ago, my mother gave me the ritual of tea. It was a comfort, like the poetry she read to me each day before the school bus came.