The Poem - Claire Hanson

The poem moved through me like wind through the grass,

– calm and familiar – just another rhythm of words –

leaving me thinking I was unchanged by its passing.

But this tepid wind was pure deception.

Once the words had stopped singing their subtle insistency,

            a bitter taste of urgency began

            oozing down my throat

                                    like malignant cough-syrup.

 

I had been littered with seeds unseen.

I had been assaulted by revelation.

My tongue burned like a branding iron

            that had just marked my imagination –

            A force herding me toward some windblown course

                                                                                                plagued by word seeds.

I was left desperately revolting

            against every genuinely tepid wind

and calm land I had ever known before.