Poem of the Week

A Day Without Poetry
May 2, 2008

The sun stumbled over the horizon.
It did not arc gracefully like a swan,
it slouched into the sky like a sullen teenager.

Early morning breezes ruffled the flowers,
but their perfume sparked no synapses.
Birds’ songs were singularly unmusical.

When people spoke, they said exactly
what they meant. They left not an inch
for doubt, for miscommunication. For flirting.

Lovers did not hold hands on the
day without poetry. Sweet nothings
dried on the tongue, unwhispered.

And that night, the constellations spun no
stories in the sky. The stars sat stiffly against
a black backdrop like nothing more than stars.