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Some words are boulders, by Britta Benson

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I found a first draft for this poem in my notebook. I had scribbled down a few notes before deciding that the piece wouldn’t go anywhere. Today, a good three weeks later, I looked at my rough and not so ready notes again. I liked them a little more and thought, hey, this is something. Don’t know what, but it’s something. Here is a whittled down version of my ramblings:

Some words are boulders

Some words are boulders. Monoliths. Immobile and hard to circumnavigate. Love, one of them. Death, another. A presence. Absence. Your choice.

Some words are blue. Taste funny and stick. ‘Thus’, one of those funny, blue, sticky things. ‘Forget’. Difficult to shake off. Trust me, I tried. Still here. And stronger.

Some words hold hands. Accompany versions of me for a day, a season, a growth spurt. Excellent companions with surprisingly reasonable demands. A little space on that page. A moment, my breath.

Boulders, blue, funny, sticky friends. Some, obnoxious, others caring. Some hurt, some heal. All of them out for adventure in permanent impermanence. A dance, a dawdle, a dream.

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