people don't believe in poetry anymore

people don't believe in poetry anymore.

They did once,
when they were little
when they still believed in fairies and
clapped through performances of peter pan
begging Tinkerbell

breathe!

Poetry was part of that life they lived
before DARE programs or cynicism,
before dances, before Holden Caulfield,
before people told them they couldn't just like it-
before people told them there was something else in it.

Poetry was an imaginary friend
he was the late night joker under the sheets
she was his first kiss,
he was a pirate, a king, a knight in shining armor
she was a princess, a queen, a knight in shining armor

there were faces peeking out from commas
and sword fights in exclamation points
there were castles in stanzas
ships in hyperbole, alliterative adventures,
white chalk on black asphalt
words formed and existent forever
reclaimed by nature in a drenching rain

but always there.

Poetry was what they begged
their fathers & mothers & brothers & sisters
& aunts & uncles & neighbors & babysitters
to read.

(Just read what this says
read it again,
what do they mean?
What happened before that?
Where do the pirates sleep?
(How come it sounds so pretty?))

Poetry was bedtime, mornings, the wheels on the bus,
the light through the trees changing outside the brick school

Poetry was the tear in Dad's eye
(this one always gets me)
the confession, the slow sigh, the laugh,
the enlightened twinkle, the never ending conclusion,
the end too soon-
(I think that's enough for tonight)

(no,

no it's not)

On the bus home, down the sidestreets,
Poetry was the wind on the road
it was laughter, it was hopscotch,
a trite norman rockwell moment
a raw experience they wouldn't find the words to
until years later.

Poetry was a passion that no one else understood.
It was sneaking up to the beach for the full moon
climbing onto the garage roof and watching the fireworks,
repeating the sentences when the night was cold
writing the words when the day was alone.

Poetry was what happened to them when
Dad got back from work
and told them to put the book away
(I think it's time...)
It was what happened between the lines
when the teacher asked them
what it was really about.
It was what happened outside the dance
when they spit blood for the first time
and sat alone on the car ride home
answering that (yes the dance was good)
and that (no I did not dance with the girls)

It was the lie about the fat lip,
It was the sob that escaped in the room
It was the conviction, it was the understanding,
It was the brazen foresaking, it was the silent withdrawal

It was a shrug.


(I think that's enough for today)

(no,

no it's not)

Poetry what was died
when there were no longer dragons in the forest
when santa stopped being real questionable line.
when a word became only a word

Poetry was what stopped keeping them up at night
with the certainty that a monster was under the bed
with the conviction that the cliché was always possible important line, cause you indulge in cliches
with the understanding that there was something separate
called the ideal.

It was when the shadow stopped being a friend
the night became just a night
dawn lost her meaning
the summer was no longer fireflies
and magic, just books you had to read
and arguments.

Poetry was what they stopped listening to
believing in,
writing,
reading,
hoping for.

Poetry became the unexplained.
The toys that mom threw out when she was cleaning the attic,
the baseball card collection.
it was something they used to do,
and confessed sheepishly that they had believed
and laughed with the others who too had believed
and condescended.

Poetry was the unmistakable whisper that they heard
when they walked through the buzz of life
and felt disconnected again,
it was the surging of unbridled emotion that told them
(you are in love!)

but still they did not believe.

It was a tingling before they knocked on the door
the sudden belief that the moon was more than the moon

the unexpected, uncontrolled desire to run and never stop running
it was the understanding that the words were written for them:
(you, yes you,
I wrote this for you)

Poetry was what happened when they lived how they wanted to
Poetry was what taught them they could fly,
Poetry made them heroes
Poetry kept them up all night clapping and screaming
Breathe! Damn it! I want you to Breathe!

But mostly, people don't believe in poetry anymore.