ballast — a tiny poem April Poetry Month day 6

This is what we carry

timecapsule of the heart

time, tanked

every single reef, every single navigated shore,

every single glance,

where we observed absolutely everything

later, we unleash

on pages

things too difficult to say aloud

from some corner where we had it packed


we know who we are

the iron’d shell of irony in perpetua

our smallselves curled inside the hardshell

retracting or extending as the currents wash


emerging in a slow scuttle when we can

sluice of ideas, freeformed


our softest parts like snails

or hermit crabs with little tiny claws

so much tenderness

on the inside


“ballast” — copyright 2011 — all rights reserved

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