For Sara Kaye Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is good to see you begin to write,
assure me that it is not your suffering but those of other people
that it is not your hell but theirs,
and too i assure you that i am living in paradise
that i am still trying to know what is hell all about
that my suffering need not be my own but those who are merely called as
subjects of our literary styles,

why are you afraid to tell our story? why is there fear in confessional poetry?

was the flower afraid to show its petals to the sun and then
hesitant to show how it dies in the afternoon
when it sheds off all its personal treasures in the counted
petals of its existence?

show me that you can write a poem.
just one. And do not fear, i will assume that it is not about you.

charge it to empathy. Let us begin with the euphemism of internalization.
Putting our feet on the shoes of those who do not know how to walk.

Or let us say, we are just writing for writing's sake.
Pure imagination. Astral travel. Talking in our sleep.

Hmm, let us see. How your poetry speaks? How your short stories can tell
the most beautiful lie possible on this planet of the apes.