Superstitious Poem by Charlotte Anna Witts

I will not write I cannot speak
Except mindfully skip the bolts that head my way
Smudging the prints laid by aching fingers
And the sky is open and stretched before me

I will not write. I cannot speak
Except pick at the plastic that once held I cradled
Releasing the ribbon pinned on so tightly
And my ocean flows and is stretched before me

I will not write. I cannot speak
Except discard the virus entwined over me
Splitting the garden seeded so slowly
And the earth spreads open and firmly beneath me

I will not write. I cannot speak
Except breathe to shatter the glass encasing me tightly
Unearthing the sweetness sampled so delicately
And the fire burns on freely, revived within me

I will not write. I cannot speak
Except dare to tease the thought that springs
Destroying the evidence dragged so persistently
Leaving his world open, inviting me