Never feels quite right
Too long bundled and uptight,
like a Nubian entombed or plainest Mennonite.
Tension risen, watch the bite
Mind churning, so burst it might.
Eternal tunnel absent a whisper of light
Sun conceded to perpetual night.
Well-plumbed valleys, nary a heavenly height
Nearly convinced no mercy in sight
Then, I write.
— Ava Wood
There she goes again. And why not, it’s National Poetry Month!
