I Know Poetry When I See It

by Jen Rose

I know poetry when I see it.

How it dances and sings and leaps

Across the page

How it shapes the white space

Breathing life into ink marks and wood pulp

Where there was once nothing

I know poetry when I see it

Where only the essence of a truth is compressed

In a line so small, but so full that

You read it over and over again

Just to know it by heart.

You write it down word for word

Letter for letter

Period for period

For wonder of what it felt

To write it.

I know poetry when I see it

Standing on my toes

Straining for a glimpse over

The shoulders of giants

Feeling small and speechless

In their presence

Sometimes

I feel the surge of words

Begging to be let out.

I hear them whispering in the notes of a song

Or the voice of a friend

Or a sudden epiphany

I doubt their worth and wonder if they matter,

And if they could mean anything

To anyone

But me.

But I write them

(or at least I try to)

Desiring to honor in the smallest way

The poetry I’ve seen.

Like a little girl

In her mother’s high heels

Five sizes too large.