I want a poem that I can live in without <br />the barking dogs of dissatisfaction and <br />disillusion disrupting the otherwise peaceful <br />afternoon of it. I want to create that other-place <br />on the page without having to first create it <br />in my mind, or – to be too busy actually wallowing <br />there to find time enough to write it down. I want <br />to recite that poem, my poem, in a cozy little <br />coffee shop where they sell used books and cater <br />to local poets in a crazy cool, confident Sexton <br />like voice that does not mask but replaces the <br />hesitant voice that conveys, in between every word <br />it utters, the fear that someone will realize the truth <br />of it. I want to read it to them, then, there, as if I were <br />reading it just to you and in the way I might have if <br />I had shared it with you back when I couldn't wait <br />to share the everything that was tumbling out of me. <br />I want them to applaud sort of quietly as I conclude – <br />not because it sounded good, but because, <br />by every possible definition of poetic, it was. <br />I want to see you smile as I slide back into the <br />chair next to you for knowing, more than they <br />ever could, its truth. <br /> <br />And… I really wouldn’t mind so terribly much <br />if the waiter said something sweet like, “I wish <br />I could write poems like that” as he filled <br />our coffee cups and you replied with a <br />warm and sincere, “You can.”<br /><br />Christine Austin Cole<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poem-pro-tem/
