Cynthia West

The New Sun Cynthia West

Cynthia West says, 'Kneeling, I retrieve shattered shards, glue them together. If I can stick even one piece to another, I have a poem. It is bread. . . . To write poetry, I memorize suffering's names, visit the wounds no stitches can hide, gather stories in my pain bag until it bursts. Love aches if it isn't told. . . . My words are small, round circles, elm seeds, designed to inhabit cracks. They sprout, growing leaves that call water, roots that hold earth, shade that shelters fruit. . . . I lean over the stream, holding a tin for panning gold, allow water to wash away the mud until the sun flashes on wet metal. . . . Kneeling, I retrieve shattered shards, glue them together. If I can stick even one piece to another, I have a poem. It is bread.'