'Poem selection' for the week -- "Spaces":
I do not know how
she felt, but I keep
thinking of her—
screaming out to an empty street.
I had been asleep
when I heard a voice
screaming, Help!
and frantic, when I opened my door.
I remember her shoulders
in the faded towel I found
before she put on my blue sweats
and white T-shirt. Call 911
please, she said.
When the officer arrived
I said, I found her there after the—
But she said,
No, that wasn’t what
happened.
What must be valued
I’m learning,
in clarity and in error,
are spaces
where
feelings are held.
Here—in a poem?
And elsewhere
-- Jenny Johnson
From the author:
“I tried to write a poem of witness. Then I decided that, for me, the more honest poem was the one about what a witness can’t know about another person’s experience.”
