Issue 5 – Hansel


Pauletta Hansel

Ars Poetica

Poetry is the path in,
the path back out again,
that leads
exactly to itself. Or poetry
is not a path
but the house itself,
the woods, the garden—
many rooms in my father’s mansion,
many bulbs in my mother’s garden.
Poetry is
a voice that speaks
in many voices, thought into image,
picture into word,
word back into layered thought
that will not hold still for defining.
Poetry is not a butterfly pinned,
is the movement of air, invisible
around its wings,
that sings miles and years away.
Poetry does not live
on the printed page,
is not held in the eyes
of the reader,
but breathes
in the space between.