I wrote too many poems in a language I did not yet know how to speak But I know now it doesn't matter how well I say grace if I am sitting at a table where I am offering no bread to eat So this is my wheat fieldyou can have every acre, Lovethis is my garden songthis is my fist fightwith that bitter frosttonight I begged another stage light to become that back alley street lamp that we danced beneaththe night your warm mouth fell on my timid cheekas i sang maybe i need youoff keybut in tunemaybe i need you the way that big moon needs that open seamaybe i didn't even know i was here til i saw you holding megive me one room to come home togive me the palm of your handevery strand of my hair is a kite stringand I have been blue in the face with your skycrying a flood over Iowa so you mother will wake to Venice Lover, I smashed my glass slipper to build a stained glass window for every wall inside my chestnow my heart is a pressed flower and a tattered bibleit is the one verse you can trustso I'm putting all of my words in the collection plate I am setting the table with bread and gracemy knees are bentlike the corner of a page I am saving your place .Andrea Gibson
About This Quote
I wrote too many poems in a language I did not yet know how to speak. When I write poetry, I am unable to put my thoughts into words. However, when I read the poems that I have written, they seem to make sense. However, when I look down at my hands and see that they are like the pages of a book, I realize that poetry is not just an art form; it is a way of life.
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