What's In My Journal

I'll be honest, I'm not big reader of poetry. That's not to say I don't come across something every now and then that truly moves me. Inspires me. Gives me pause. Makes me think. Something I like to pull apart. Something I like to remain intact as a whole. Something I'm eager to share. It's powerful. It's beautiful. It's this...

What's In My Journal
by William Stafford

Odd things, like a button drawer.
Mean things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too.
A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous discards.
Space for knickknacks, and for Alaska.
Evidence to hang me, or to beatify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected anyway.
Deliberate obfuscation, the kind that takes genius.
Chasms in character.
Loud omissions.
Mornings that yawn above a new grave.
Pages you know exist but you can't find them.
Someone's terribly inevitable life story, maybe mine.