a person whose diet consists only or principally of locally grown or produced food

Seek out poets who call your place home.
They walk your streets, observe
the fantasies and foibles
of your governor,
know when your trees bloom
or when they burn.

Even if poets make myth or tell stories
that may not be entirely true,
they breathe air you breathe,
hope what they write helps you see
what they see: crumpled Bud cans
in the alley, a child too sad to sing,
nations flying flags on razor wire.

Accept that shelves holding up local poets
in your bookstore are short. Ask your
librarians to buy chapbooks.
Continue to read the poets (Rumi,
Shakespeare, Billy Collins, Mary Oliver)
whose familiar words you hear in sermons,
at weddings and funerals.

Reading local poets is like choosing
to go locavore to confirm someone
cares about you as in immediacy.
Cares to explore the lunacy, logic,
laws, leafage, laughter, lyricism,
lushness, love, and lickspittles
in your very neighborhood.

Poetry is never fake.
If you think I’m preaching
to the choir – please sing.

Tricia Knoll is a Vermont poet who is doing a poetry marathon in January – writing 30 poems in 30 days for the Tupelo Press 30-30 Project which supports this indie press’s publication of poetry. Each new poem is posted every day in January, and this poem is one of those poems.

Poetry collections:

twitter: @triciaknollwind
Amazon author page

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