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      October 5, 2016I Feel the Memory of Writing YouPedro Poitevin

      I feel the memory of writing you
      beginning to carve out its riverbed
      deep in the shadow of my passing through.
      How after scanning you beneath, I flew
      a little lower; how I turned my head:
      I feel the memory of writing you,
      my labyrinthine road I had no clue
      how to begin or end before I read—
      deep in the shadow of my passing through—
      the story I demanded to be true.
      In each one of the knots along the thread,
      I feel the memory of writing you.
      The moment when I felt your pulse, I knew.
      And as you slowly found your form, I shed—
      deep in the shadow of my passing through—
      a love song to the love song that you drew
      with words I’d say to words I hadn’t said.
      I feel the memory of writing you
      deep in the shadow of my passing through.

      from #52 - Summer 2016

      Pedro Poitevin

      “When, during sleepless nights with an infant son in my arms, I discovered that I was too constrained to do the kind of mathematical thinking I was used to, I began writing palindromes and posting them on Twitter. Shortly thereafter, Aurelio Asian challenged me to write palindromes in meter and form. I did, for a while, but meter and form eventually liberated me from my bidirectional straitjacket. These days, I occasionally even write in free verse. (I suppose poetry measures my freedom.) I write poetry because doing so helps me exercise a form of attention, one that benefits from varying degrees of freedom and constraint.”

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