On Hearing a Poem Recited, Not Read
by Christine Walker for Larry Robinson The poem flew at me Little darts, pricking my skin piercing my belly, my arms, my eyes Flew at me on swift, black wings trailing a smoky blur past my ears Flew all around me furious, then curiously quiet No words sounded like words read from a page They had been lifted the night before, years before Flipped up, one by one letter by letter let fall on the tongue and dissolved like melting snowflakes trickling down through the heart, into the belly to the toes, the fingertips Pulled back through the blood through the brain down into the back of the throat into the cheeks and spit out Little darts of words big wings of words charging the air all around me There were no words, only language Tongue moved by muscle and blood The poem entered me and exited leaving little points of pain and light soft feathery strokes on my skin and hair Leaving me empty of words