Lyrebird
A first draft poem inspired by Hala Alyan's memoir
I’ve written extensively about my thoughts on poets writing prose (as a poet who writes prose, no less) but Hala Alyan is at the top of the list. It’s no surprise her memoir, I’ll Tell You When I’m Home, was named a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize — a book I devoured as an ebook and spoke so deeply to me that I am eagerly seeking a hard copy to add to my bookshelf of the writers who most inspire me.
Collecting lines from books is a practice I’ve developed in recent years, in thanks to Kolina Cicero, and Alyan’s memoir had so many about lyricism, about stories, about wanting that struck a chord. And that’s where I turn when seeking inspiration for poems early on a Thursday morning…
Lyrebird "The lyrebirds don't choose what sound they hear, which is to say they don't choose what sound they carry." — Hala Alyan, I'll Tell You When I'm Home Most days I write as if a body, possessed. My hands, compelled. My thoughts, bent to the will of a muse. I have no control over what haunts me — the de-shelving of spines, the bloodletting of women in the name of a god — if I had the language to define a ghost, would I still be a poet? A lyrebird, vessel for the message inhaled as if oxygen. I choose the shape, not the story. I choose the syntax, not the memory. All the while praying I am not the only one touched by desire for something more.
Cover photo: Julian Hanslmaier via Unsplash