Megan Porter Poetry

It’s the worst day of the year:

the little things aren’t enough

to hold a person here.

Transient love is like a sun

Self-sustaining, reliable, there

A lighthouse you don’t know is on

A fluorescent road marker, silent guide

A middle eight that makes the song

Suns burn up and slowly die

Lasting love is like a fire

I’ve climbed the red plastic summit slide, crowded high, and I’m realising now I’ve never known how low was low

Chattering children frenzied below

tired feet in tatty shoes, all seem to know

I don’t want a life that defaults to no

just exiting via the entry stairs, and so

I’ll follow my heart, hands on the sides, and go

One problem replaces another;

I feel the universe

plating my armour

Here’s a lesson in patience:

You sit alone in a barren field,

but one day hope will shine a sunny star on you so bright you’ll come alive

The trees know they have to endure

wind that rips bark and branch apart

The leaves exploding down

twisting circling down

sap exposed dripping down

The air reeks for days afterward

burning nose watering eyes

burning incense mourning ritual

smoke clouds drifting up up up

We’re doing the best we can