(I have not written a poem in years, but I used to write poems back in the ’90’s and read them at poetry slams and open readings.  My poetry is different than my prose and dramatic writings because once I write a poem I do not rewrite it, making my poetry, though imperfect, as close to pure expression as I can possibly get.  This poem is still untitled, so I’m using the date I wrote it as the title.)

January 18, 2017

 

A silent wound

That festers

Planted long ago

Buried by time

Ignored

Expecting it to leave

But is almost impossible

To unearth

The pain that was shelved

Continued to prick

And an old memory

Comes back to haunt