Ars Poetica

I often have this dream
that I am writing a poem
under a large sapodilla tree
with a horse-shaped piñata
hanging from its limb. Then,
suddenly, I am the tree,
its lobed leaves, white corollas,
inconspicuous roots, and I’m conscious
of a weight swinging from me
like an odd shaped pendulum.
Sometimes in this dream, I am not
the tree, but I am me, and the poem
is the piñata that I blindly swing
at with hyperbole and weak syntax.
Or, the tree is the poem with tendrilled
roots touching secret springs, and the piñata
is an elusive metaphor for what I can’t see.
But, always, before I wake, I am the piñata,
I am the tree, I am the poem—all at once.
And words, black and bold, are striking me,
cracking open papier-mâché,
bark, and earth until a bright light
spills out, like a golden yolk.

***

Jennifer Hearn received her MFA at Florida International University.She currently resides in Miami, Florida, where she teaches creative writing and literature at International Studies Charter High School.