The September 2007 poetry project consists of writing one poem per day in the month of September and putting it up for public consumption regardless of its state of completion.

Sept 2

by Rachel Levine

If to it dream, then to it make

what grows in the heart,

but not held in the hands.

My crown of hyacinths this,

my wand of daises:

a family, my tribe.

We dance and sing all day, all night

arms raised high above our heads

feet stamping with belled ankle bracelets.

So by our beat, we turn a thin rug plush.

We grow the walls, the curtains, the doors, the roof.

We grow the plants, the sofa, the stairs, the beds.

We grow the garden, the mailbox, the floorboards.

This is the temple and it grew inside me outside.

I walk past the houses and buildings, lit windows

This a sarcophagus, locked in ivy, slumbering, unkissed.

That hypnotized into numbness, dullness, no voices but the automon, no song their own.

This kept as a relic, not lived but preserved in formaldyhyde.

If to it dream, then to it make

what grows in the heart to resonate.

©Rachel Levine 2007