Poet Jane Hirshfield said "... the feeling I have about poem-writing (is) that it is always an exploration, of discovering something I didn't already know.  Who I am shifts from moment to moment, year to year.  What I can perceive does as well.  A new poem peers into mystery, into whatever lies just beyond the edge of knowable ground."

I bring a different poem to the writing classes each week, not only to inspire but to introduce new poets to the group members.

I Make Noise with My Mouth by Marlene Cookshaw

Why do I need to be right?
I tear our scorched tablecloth 
into eight squares 
and dye them crimson.
I make noise with my mouth 
and move air with my arms.
How do I know what I know?
My legs grow legs and 
effortlessly walk the line
on which I hang the laundry.
Socks with thick soles	
that take days to dry,
tapestried table napkins,
pinstripe shirts whose cuffs
are a miracle
of collusion and collapse:  
I want to kiss 
the wrist that’s buttoned in them.
My legs grow legs; I walk 
to the late morning ferry
with a ripe apricot pulsing
in my blue tin cup.
I move air with my arms, 
summer’s rolling promise.
When I take lunch 
from my pack at the dock, the fruit
is a fuzzy purse of liquid:
nectar in a skin sack,
intact, what I know
the whole flesh one
sweet bruise.

~ from Double Somersaults (Brick Books, 1999)

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