How Poetry Came (after Neruda)
Poetry came to find me,
came to search me out
and shake me up.
It came to tell me
there was something to say,
and I had better say it
or spend the rest of my days
with all the unanswered
questions dangling
on the tip of my tongue.
I heard no voice,
saw no word,
felt no kiss.
There was no pole star,
no guide post;
not even a silent wind.
Did it come from winter
or river? Did it have wheels
or wings? I don’t know.
I don’t know anything
about it. I only know
it came lurching out
of the shadows,wide-eyed;
waving its white page
and stub of coal,
needing a meal
and a place to sleep.
Lisa Vihos
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