Erasing Bodies

Ars Poetica* (after Kenyatta Rogers)

All poetry ought to be torn and thrown, unless someone

picks up the pieces, pastes them together with tape

as if it means something to them. Like toilet paper

dissolving in the pot, the scribbles on the wall

scrubbed out when you were three.

Life is a waiting room, we all know that;

Some wait, some make you wait.

I want the poems that wait for me,

the poems that ask me again and again

am I the one worth waiting for?

Give me the poem with the metallic taste of blood,

give me the poem with that sudden stench of death

I want a poem that enters my room at night

passing through locked doors in silence

the poem that sits at my bedside.

A poem that’s festering and in pain,

that needs to snuggle into my arms again.

*art of poetry

ipsita banerjee