is a crucial spatial paradigm in poetry.

Things always occur in that season,
that time when you went away,
when the leaves turned to green and then to gold and then to red.

That year,
when Jerry kissed you for the first time;
and you discovered that you didn’t like him anymore.

That day in the veranda
the guppies hopping up and down all around you like baby frogs,
slowly asphyxiating because you didn’t want to put them back into the pond.

One must look back to distill important moments into a poem.
Nothing that happens today can ever have quite the same blow to the gut
as a well-crafted recollection, important enough to be put into words.

It’s like dry-aging beef.



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