The Heartbeat of Words, By C.B.

I'm not sure...
That i remember who that I am...
You do,
Because unlike me....
You were there.
Before my five years of silence,
story hour....
and year after year of
cartoons during the day,
and his angry words at night.


And I forgot about poetry.
And I forgot about life.


I think about the people
that I always wanted to be,
Poets every one,
and I wonder where they have been hiding for so long.


Juana Ines De La Cruz,
with the beautiful, rich, Spanish sounds,
poetry that sings love from long ago.
And Gertrude Stein,
with her life of art circles,
and love,
that calls out the same name in passion,
over, and over, and over again.
Her huge self worth, and always the love,
of words, of life, of food, and forever Alice.
Or, Emily Dickinson
with "A Certain slant of light,"
but...always and forever...
my Sylvia, with "Edge," and her haunting voice
echoing in my soul,
and she was always "The last Words,"
and she was the life that I led.

Or the songs,
words set to rhythm,
and the heartbeat of life,
beauty in every one.
Johnette Napolitano, with her unforgettable voice,
singing poetry that was as much mine,
as if I had written it.
Or, Tina, with her strength and beauty,
and the music that gave me something to look forward to.
Patsy Cline and Billy Holiday,
Notes like no other...
to become part of you...
as they sing to everyone...
we are always here.

The voices and the words
that are as much me
as I am me.
All hidden beneath piles of dishes and dirty laundry,
And the baby's cries,
and his angry screams.
But...you just...
(with no effort at all)
pulled them out of the closet...
and handed them back to me,

And they will be cherished.