A New Poem

I love a new poem
that I must read
over and over.
First run is a foreign
language,
but as I go through
the words one by one—
turning them over
and over, weighing,
measuring, giving them the
tender respect they
deserve—then the
phrases, metaphors,
similes, word spacings,
and stanza
breaks, it begins to drip
thirst-quenching, life-
giving water.
The first drops sit on
top of the dried branches
of my heart. But ever so
slowly they seep into
the dense hard fibers
and soften yesterday’s
punches, last year‘s
wounds, and tomorrow’s
fears. My vision sharpens
and ear tunes. Eventually
the collection of dripping
water creates a mirror
on the soften branches
that reflects a poignant
colored slice of nourishing
life. Oh yes, I see my face
more clearly in
that mirror too but with
raw, safe
transparency.

Now to be utterly
truthful some new
poems never crack
open to bleed life, no
matter how I beat them
to release the treasure.

And some must be thrown
into the depths of the
sea to forget and some tossed
back into the oven to bake.
©Bonnie Saul Wilks