Our audience is every individual grain of sand on a Martian desert versus that of any alkaline beach, the scales on every fish weaving within a school in symbiotic synchronicity, the ink on every rejection letter from an ivy league outweighing the postage, the blood cells in an adult, in mileage, constricting the earth thrice over— like what comes after it's a bird, a plane, no it's- circling us to turn back time. Be the sunrise that welcomes the early and eager weather vane, the moonset that wishes the earth luck every rotation, snowfall, cherry blossom, heatstroke, and dead leaf, the last shooting star—a light-year's hair behind the pack— whose soul cries when the reflector we call an ocean peak-a-boos back. Perform even when you feel like the court jester at center of a king, who's already called for the executioner to divorce your head from its shoulders.
Addendum: This was the second poem I wrote for substack, that I never published, way back when I didn’t have any subscribers. I wrote this as a kind of a pep-talk to myself since I felt like I was screaming into a void when I first started. Now there are over one hundred of you and I especially saved this for you. This has been resting in the drafts ever since the first month I started The Poetry Foundation and I’m finally happy to share it with all of you! Thank you all so much for your continued support.
Thank you for sharing this with us, Daniel.
An actor in times of stress looks over the audience sees one and speaks. Reaches through the years turned calendar pages to find a date when he thought life brought him to the stage for a reason. A megaphone mask spoke and he voice carried true to discover what he must do. Keep the play. Write more.