It is often
effortless
this charge
a light somewhere
a word
a phrase
a road highlighted
on an internal GPS
how to get from here
[ thought ]
to there
[ something written ]
with little but
an invisible arrow
a compelling
a compulsion
an understanding
that it’s fleeting
unforgiving
fickle
if not me and mine
then someone else
somewhere else
will get it
catch it
in whatever way
they have learned to catch
mitt, net, rain barrel
I prefer mine
organic
open a door
a window
my arms
let the words come right in
no ceremony
or formality
no place settings
and certainly
no roughhousing
(live and let live,
I always say)
you wanna be a good poem
or a bad poem,
one anointed with laurels
or just doddering
in the margins?
come on out
with all your slick juices
scream and wail and
take that first breath, baby!
and then there it is
whatever it is
good, bad, mediocre
I don’t mind them
any of them, really
they’re warm-ups
stretches
practice runs
compost
take a deep breath
because the good ones?
Mmm, yeah,
the good ones,
they glow!
preternaturally
hum and buzz
and vibrate a little
so you have to keep
reading them
over and over
pinching a dream
is this real?
You just birthed
an angel, mama —
a wild wondrous angel —
watch her fly!
Poem ©2025 Jen Payne. Photo by Eusebiu Soica. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.
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