break into blossom

and some very short poems

Mar 08, 2024

I sit in my poetry class, nine people I might have once passed unnoticed on the street gather around a large square table. Every week, our teacher wears a black or grey turtleneck and glasses that he takes on and off, waving in gesticulation. He says things like, “We fall into poetry, we fall into poetry. We fall into silence, we fall into silence.” I’m not convinced the man is not an oracle. He is exactly what I want a poetry teacher to be. I am the youngest, I think. I feel the youngest to me. I am a little intimidated because there are 40 years separating me from what the eldest knows. The class is called “The Very Short Poem”, which I chose because I’ve never written poems before, and short seemed easier than long. I was wrong. Every word, every punctuation, every enjambment must mean something. Nothing is without intentionality.

At the beginning of the first class, the teacher asks us what we like to write about. What is the subject we are most drawn to? I stare at him blankly. Well, I don’t know! I can’t isolate just one thing from the ringing in my ears. He says not to worry; it will make itself known. My teacher sends us poems to read, and one of them is A Blessing by James Wright. Here are its final three lines: