to write a poem you must break a window tear out the screen
hold it sideways like a basket throw the world up and catch
whatever collects whatever won’t pass through my brother
does not like poems he likes numbers and facts I asked him
to write a poem he bought a knife and joined the army sometimes
writing a poem requires wringing out the metaphor or teasing it
until you get sore but here I am making it sound like work
again when it is not writing poems is not hard
the way that training is hard the way that killing a man or returning
from killing a man that you were told was not a man is hard
in the army his body rises and falls depending on what
they are telling him to do or devour I have seen him skeletal
and also brick-like I sent him a book of poems about war he has not read
sometimes there is no beauty to be found and on those days
the poem cannot be forced you cannot torture a poem
into being you cannot simply lay a glittering metaphor atop
and hope nobody notices it is estimated every day 20 US veterans
kill themselves no poetry here just numbers just facts some of them
are old so who can say if it is truly PTSD at that point or just the regular
weight of holding whatever collects whatever won’t pass through but
once a boy who was not my brother not a soldier just a boy I loved
made me stay on the phone while he sobbed that this was it he was
going to do it and there was nothing beautiful about it and I did not
write the poem I just clutched the phone and counted his breaths
Ars Poetica cho PK
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