You
You.
There comes a place in the poem
where poet writes/has written you.
You could be the reader,
you could be the universal you,
you could be the writing writing to herself,
or maybe you are the beloved,
that the poet has a face for
a voice a small
a past, a hope
this beloved makes me as the reader
take notice
you has been asked to be like
or compared to
the rain.
You, the reader, are introduced
to someone’s you,
and you wonder how many times
this you has been brought to the page
stapled there, you.
You listen you
you please
plaintive
often you is no longer capable of answering
and then it is even more urgent to put you
there, what was it that made you, you?
God, can you ever find another you, like you?
And poetry is answering with a big no
but also with a little tiny yes
because yous keep being born
and finding each other
and then leaving each other
again
and in poetry you is not so fixed
that your you and hers might not
just be the same thing
and the sound finally is important too
you comes out of the circle of your lips,
you is a single breath,
and you takes some little bit of holding
back in order to be said.
