In honor of April being National Poetry Month, I decided to challenge myself to write one poem every single day of the month and post it on here. But in my naturally chaotic fashion, I came up with this idea three days late. I’m sending out this first poem as a PSA that I’m doing this, but will be shutting off emails for the remainder of the month (apart from our regularly scheduled programming) so your emails don’t get clogged. Make sure to keep an eye on my notes to see the rest of the poems as they get uploaded this month!
She lost her voice as she found it.
The sunset glow from the salt lamp in the west end of the room
Illuminated a warmth of nostalgia as her fingers clicked against the keyboard,
A clickety-clack all too familiar, but vaguely distant.
The silence held like a thick fog in the darkness,
A sniffle and tissue thrown, chilling the air with an echo of despair,
But she persevered, allowing the 26 characters to form their patterns across the screen.
To write and to post is to be perceived, to be seen,
Something she had not tangoed with since fifteen.
To deny thy art is to deny thy heart.
They say you never forget your first love,
And despite her attempts to shield herself from it,
Dancing with the illusions of Impressionism and Renaissance,
But bedridden back to the keyboard she came.
Those first few keystrokes like putting keys into a door
You used to call home.
Phrases to sentences, articles to a pile of drafts,
Unable to stop, the words flew through her
Like a lost melody finding its way back to sea.
The adrenaline of sharing, the ease that freed her soul,
Everyday feeling it a little lighter,
Until her throat became tighter.
But how poetic:
The moment she found her voice again,
She lost her vocals.
— sometimes, the universe is ironic.