I've come to believe in the idea that writing begets writing. Which is to say that if I can write a single sentence, another sentence that follows that one will very likely come to me. And the "adventure" of writing that way--letting the writing itself dictate where it wants to go--has become more and more exciting to me over the half a century I've been writing. This poem began with only itself is its subject, but by the time it reached its conclusion, it had escaped its meta inclination and moved elsewhere, though I’m had put to describe what its subject became. I think I may have to call it a confessional poem.
Is That It?
Verb and two antecedentless pronouns
is hardly a promising beginning:
If “That” refers to somebody’s last ounce
of whiskey or dope or information
then we have to address the black hole of “It,”
which could mean a falling leaf, the history
of civilization, my relationship
with you, or the tantalizing mystery
of why the African spurred tortoise
walks with his human through Tsukishima.
I admit I watch animal videos,
but this poem is serious. It may not seem a
mindful composition but believe me,
that turtle is something you need to see!
© 2017 David Huddle
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