Shavings
April 8 2021
She said she
whittles them down.
Her words
on the page;
like a
sharp knife to wood,
the soft
shavings curling off
and piling at her feet.
This is
also how the brain works,
early in
life
pruning
networks and nerves
as it
learns its place in the world.
As she has
also learned
to shuffle
and repurpose.
But unlike
the splinters and chips
a word is
never lost;
the same
words
over and
over,
same 26
letters
same
commas and stops.
And while
a stick can only get smaller
poems get
added on,
resurrected
and revisited
revised
and even rewritten.
Soft wood,
from pine or spruce.
And hard
words
that help
her write her way out.
The soft
underbelly
she can't
help expose,
the
depleted nerves
she needs to explore.
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