Not This Poem
 

this is the one with
dogs on the bed
cornbread with too crisp edges
this one isn’t young
or fresh-faced
it’s cold in an October house
that hasn’t got the heat on yet
there’s time for that
this is a hold-out-as-long-as-you-can poem
and sometimes you get coffee with cream
and sometimes hot water
with yesterday’s tea bag
 
not that other poem
that’s the one that Howls
to make people famous
or turns into a song
and saves the day
this one is the lost-under-the-bed-
trampled-on-by-skittish-mice-poem
this one has messy memories
and mixed metaphors
 
this poem is this day
with curves and feet
and shallow places
where tadpoles become frogs
and the small of the back
shows its gorgeous arch
and your grandfather’s ears grow long
as his words disappear
this poem is about shedding   
and storing and sleeping
and birthing
  
this one
written in these shoes
each toe its own poem
but not the poem of yesterday
not the same fleshy words
but     still
a moving part heading the same way
but never the same drop of poem
do you hear what I’m rhyming here
one day with the next

I’m trying to tell you
not about that other poem
that different woman
but this one   
here now
this poem  
not
the
other
one