A New Poet

A New Poet

by Linda Pastan

Finding a new poet
is like finding a new wildflower
out in the woods. You don’t see

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

its name in the flower books, and
nobody you tell believes
in its odd color or the way

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

its leaves grow in splayed rows
down the whole length of the page. In fact
the very page smells of spilled

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

red wine and the mustiness of the sea
on a foggy day – the odor of truth
and of lying.

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

And the words are so familiar,
so strangely new, words
you almost wrote yourself, if only

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

in your dreams there had been a pencil
or a pen or even a paintbrush,
if only there had been a flower.

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