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One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.
ResistFrancesca AcquavivaA burning wickof resistancein two seasof indifferencebitter coffeewith the sweetnessof the vehemencewith which the windwhispersI resistto desirein more than one headto becomecloversto sew togetherthe pagesthe speakersthe soft notestables pushed togetherclosewhile on the napkinsone knitsa validfutureto embroiderto knitthe handfulsof grainsto be sanda free beachwe have litwe want to lightamong the ruinsthe fingerprintsthe encephalogramthe commas stillstained with inkthe typingthe unionthe gaitthe way of speakingthe way of dressingsometimes deemedwrongthe only thing wrong isthe yoke of the dustof the old—not the ancient—of those who squeezethe throatbut we are alivein the commas, even ifbelatedin the necessary periodsin the efforts madewith pairs ofbicepsin the snowsin the mountains ofdoing, not justsayingwe are alivein the life that descends upon usfrom abovethat rises to usfrom belowMore from Francesca Acquaviva ↓
Support + Stay Connected to OPO
If you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.
Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.
By Maggie DeversOne Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.
ResistFrancesca AcquavivaA burning wickof resistancein two seasof indifferencebitter coffeewith the sweetnessof the vehemencewith which the windwhispersI resistto desirein more than one headto becomecloversto sew togetherthe pagesthe speakersthe soft notestables pushed togetherclosewhile on the napkinsone knitsa validfutureto embroiderto knitthe handfulsof grainsto be sanda free beachwe have litwe want to lightamong the ruinsthe fingerprintsthe encephalogramthe commas stillstained with inkthe typingthe unionthe gaitthe way of speakingthe way of dressingsometimes deemedwrongthe only thing wrong isthe yoke of the dustof the old—not the ancient—of those who squeezethe throatbut we are alivein the commas, even ifbelatedin the necessary periodsin the efforts madewith pairs ofbicepsin the snowsin the mountains ofdoing, not justsayingwe are alivein the life that descends upon usfrom abovethat rises to usfrom belowMore from Francesca Acquaviva ↓
Support + Stay Connected to OPO
If you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.
Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.