April 22: reading poetry online

all of a sudden
the straight clean lines
and the corporate shine
of my little macbook
gets blurred:

the internet is a crazy
city, a gust of wind,
a hidden empire.
some days
i move out of
large streets and
seedy bylanes
and find little meadows,
corners and cafes and
afternoon light painted
rose. it is nothing like
finding a book in a
bookshop or on
the pavement:

but it is
something else,
the swelling in my
chest like i swallowed
the moon, the knowledge
of hundreds of poets
hiding behind this veil,
not eliot or wordsworth
or anything i can find in
a Crossword bookstore
in the mall, something
else, something other;

something happening
now, this minute, this
year, hundreds of women
unfolding their skin and
sculpting words that
taste of wine and
magic (there are
hardly ever men),
from all over the
world (they are
hardly ever white),

and the internet
becomes, for a while,
a table i can share with
these women, a street
that leads to a quiet
riverside, a blossoming;

a place where these voices
can echo and reach the stars,
tremble off mountains and
into my skin, a place where
these voices are strong and
alive and are heard, are heard,
are heard, can be heard, are not
hidden behind bestsellers or
classics, are not forgotten,
are not put behind, are heard,
are strong and alive and exist
in a street lit up with stars
and whispers, conversations
that sing of an awakening,
words that pave these
streets in my mind.

all of a sudden
i can take out
the stones from
my mouth

and fill it
with stars