Newberg Scene

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

for the Ottos

Just walked into the kitchen for a cookie.
Five poets were hunkered around the cookie jar,
apparently defending it. “This isn’t a poem,”
said one, rubbing his eyes from lack of sleep—
referring, somehow, to this very text.
“Ah, but it is,” said another. “It has line endings.”
“May I have a cookie?” I asked, expectantly.
“Only if you stop narrating yourself
into your own poem,” said one of them.
By now, however, I was nearly deaf
from the sound of poetry in my ears,
the stopping and starting, the lilting,
the framed sorrow, the personal burdens.
“Personal Burdens,” I told the cookie guardians.
“That’s what I’ll call my punk band.”
“No cookie for you,” announced one of them.
I left the kitchen disappointed—but inspired.

• • • 
 

5 Responses to “Newberg Scene”

  1. Lynn Otto Says:

    Thanks, Aaron! Love it!

  2. Valerie Sikkema Says:

    Fabulous! Almost like you were there :)

  3. Edward Nudelman Says:

    Bravo. A freeing read! Chocolate chip or peanut butter?


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