I’m waiting for the words to catch up to my heart which is
elliptical at the moment there’s an apology
even I am expecting to bore out of my throat
but what for what for
I am continuing to write in a font that displeasures me
everything shifts so rapidly
my body the environment my body the environment
why not return to something as aggressively unspectacular as arial
a font for all my first thoughts today I typed the words
and deleted and retyped deleted and retyped
inside of the collapse I am still holding on to narrative
this is not sentiment it is how I keep my family together
when I breathe in deep enough I feel it all the old anger
waiting to become newer anger not having the words
can feel like not having something to hit I think I wrote that in another poem
what is the equation that solves everything ideas are commodity
even the idea that ideas are commodity I don’t even know
what I have to sell I’ve spent my entire life living on a fault line
I know all that’s been made is inherently broken.
This is not me being dour this is me writing a note
that says I miss you I meant that the other way
but the one you were thinking works, too
Copyright © 2023 by Jason Bayani. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 22, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.
If for a day joy masters me,
Think not my wounds are healed;
Far deeper than the scars you see,
I keep the roots concealed.
They shall bear blossoms with the fall;
I have their word for this,
Who tend my roots with rains of gall,
And suns of prejudice.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on January 15, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.