NaPoWriMo 2022 // day 13
I listened to Mary Oliver
on the way home from getting the groceries
and I remembered how her lines
weave a blanket,
warm, with muted colors
and perfect stitches,
able to wrap you up with
all the knowledge the world holds
translated through a single
blade of grass.
Tonight
I went to the poetry reading
on Hollie Street
and was reminded
that penning poems
is telling a story
like a tattoo artist,
going just deep enough
below the surface
to let the ink shine through.