“The Creative Writer”: A Poem by Santi Tafarella

 

Outside your garret, voices.

And you might use them.

But you prefer the inner

mausoleum of desk drawers

and the burial shawls of clean

white paper. It’s a cover, you

 

say, for you really are the bee

which through the window

comes and goes. In truth, you

too have honey on your feet,

and the doors of perception

 

are double and open in you,

and this is why you must

pollinate the open laptop 

and tap all ceilings in an

agitated buzz. Still, the wall-

 

paper’s dirty flowers tell your

lie, for they do not live but

behind the mind’s fence, each

one an inflamed wound that

you alone have tended, and in 

that inflected garden is a tomb.

About Santi Tafarella

I teach writing and literature at Antelope Valley College in California.
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