Taking a break from Homage Poems for a bit. My initial read-through of Ada Limon's Bright Dead Things didn't inspire anything in me. So I must have been in a terrible mood.
Much like Martin Espada's Imagine The Angels Of Bread, the book starts with a poem I imagine hearing on stage at a slam-related open mic. It's written very accessibly and it deals with the sort of stories and issues people at a slam-related open mic will be quick to cheer for. But as the book goes on it becomes increasingly interesting and more complex.
And I'm always a sucker for a well-written poem about insomnia.
The Tongue Blanket Of Dreaming
I'd like to take a nap.
But not a nap that's eternal,
a nap where you wake up
having dreamt of falling, but
you've only fallen into
an ease so unkown to you
it looks like a new country.
-- Ada Limon, "The Noisiness Of Sleep"
When i grew too exhausted to tip-toe
between the dragons I curled myself into a lozenge
Intent on melting away
on the foulest dragon's tongue I slept
like an accusation against someone you love
the precious treasure was time
i could scale against my chest Of course
i dreamed that i had become my scythe-toothed shelter
Don't we all dream of being our own
killer or savior
An ongoing conversation between writers and the text that they're reading.