A Candle for Me

“I don’t create poetry, I create myself. For me, my poems are a way to me”. Edith Sodergran

In grade five I wrote my first poem
called, “Winter”
in a little, red schoolhouse
on a little, small desk
with my little, small hand
The teacher promised to publish it.

I think she forgot.

Like a gull forages for food,
I still hungered for words
to pour into diaries
To create my own worlds

I know I forgot

Then high school came
a tumultuous time to define,
An English teacher 
recited on wing,
“The song my paddle sings”.
By a poet Pauline.

It enlivened a longing to awaken my dream.

Poems become worlds when I wake up my pen. 
And one time a poet held that candle for me.

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