POETICA

MayaWalker CollegeFirstYear ChathamUniversity

& we start with poems paved in cement, crushed shells & bare feet alongside the edge; an ugly combination, distorted urban planning that makes the poet wonder: was this city built to last?

Of course, it was not even build for poets, not for the pens used to write. Later, it will become a city of technology, each building a surplus of machines. Each line in this poem is intentional –

I type this from a machine. I end lines where I see fit. Do not see meaning where there is not, or perhaps see meaning in every corner, at every lamppost. I am the speaker. I am the poet. & one day, I will leave these sharp concrete tiles for shards of broken glass. One day I’ll leave for cobblestoned sidewalks, one day for rotting wood that creaks as you walk. But for now we pour cement above pages of poetry

& hope to what we have is good enough to be spared, saved, untarnished, lasting.