Closer to Free by Julia Fehrenbacher

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It does not matter if it is good, if you use the right words 

or the prettiest words, if you craft sentences complete

with commas and metaphors all in the right place.

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It matters that it feels good, that you splash

around with joy, that you forget

the world for more than a while, that you make a merry mess,

feel the flap of wings against ribcage, that you mix

yellow and blue to make the just-right shade

of green, the green that reminds you of the field you rested in

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when you were still considered young.

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It does not matter if you win the contests,

collect the rewards, the credentials,

the most pats on the back, if all your As

are straight, if all your sentences come to a full stop.

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It matters that you forget the push

of performance while you lean in close 

to opening crocus, that you let something

in you open too.

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It matters that you drape words

off the page - miles off the page

even, that you write your way to true -

that you feel the shake of a voice finally found -

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the flutter of a voice finally free.

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