For I will consider Maggie.
For this week’s poetry prompt given me by Poets&Writers urges me to do so.
For Maggie is responsible for my addiction to poetry prompts.
For she recognized prompts to be no more artificial than any other impulse to a poem.
For she would do this prompt far more justice than I.
For she will always serve as my most constant poetry prompt.
For she is rightfully to be considered.
For she is not considered often.
For she is not read well.
For she is not heard out loud.
For she is ignored.
For she is shrugged off.
For she is quit.
For she is abused.
For she is lied about.
For she is unknown.
For she is left.
For she is threatened.
For she is hated.
For she is targeted.
For she is unwanted.
For she gave me Denise.
For she saw through my hurt and my rage.
For she took the time from her own.
For she went to Boston without me asking.
For she broke through.
For she is owed our lives and our love.
For she has the eyes of the goddess.
For she is the dance in her daughter’s joy.
For she is the art in her son’s craft.
For I will consider her in my most vivid dreaming.
For I will hear her voice speaking poetry of every word.
For I will find her in every crowd and sense her in every solitude.
For I will remember her with every thought.
For I will feel her touch, her embrace, her kiss.
For she is beautiful.
For she has the gaze of a whispering fog near the morning sun breaking over the mountain’s edge.
For she has the smile of a laughing brook that can’t be kept from leaping out free.
For she has the hair of a wild wind wrapping imaginations up into storms of light.
For her thigh is eager and her wrist is ready.
For her back is hard and her breast is soft.
For her kiss surrenders with no formula.
For her body loves with no rules.
For in her scars she takes no pride nor hides no shame.
For in her marks are map to her mission.
For in her cuts she hears the voice of her poetry.
For in her bruises are manna to her calling.
For I will consider her word like sweet herbs in my throat.
For I will consider her verb like fresh spice stinging my tongue.
For I will consider her inflection like scents of spring rain to my nose.
For I will consider her form like dance of the planets among their stars.
For I will consider her imagery like staring at the sun without blinking.
For I will consider her metaphor like making love in the secret bed of moonlight.
For I will consider her voice to be the echo of the goddess she serves.
For I cannot here or anywhere consider her enough.
For I cannot now or anytime consider her too much.
(For I cannot keep myself from revising and extending even this scrap.)
For I cannot stop considering her.
For I will consider Maggie
a true friend.