Day 20: Things I Know

In response to the NaPoWriMo.net prompt of the day, to write a poem stating the things you know.

Thirty days hath September,

April thirty poems.

A passport is required

for international travel,

but you can speak

as many languages as you like

without leaving home.

Breath is always

our first language.
(I know this because

Mary Oliver wrote it

and her words carry truth

as unassumingly as air.)

Fever dreams

in a foreign language

feel almost like poetry

until you awaken

and douse them

with cold water.

The proper use

of spelling, grammar

and punctuation (!)

is art, but only

because it is becoming lost.

Poetry is

what

we each

believe

it to be.

Thirty poems each,

times twelve friends, give (and) take,

equals… oh, I don’t know –

always just enough,

never too much.