Blue Mountain Arts Poetry Contest

Say we had poetry then.
by Liza Porter

Eighth Contest
SECOND Place

Something to pull our drowning bodies
out of the sea of fear we struggled in every day. 
Say we sat in the dark of our room, 
backs against your twin bed, 
feet pointed toward mine, toenails shining 
under the moon as it peeked through a crack 
in the drapes, a small flashlight illuminating the pages 
of some book that appeared from the sky —
out of nowhere we would say. Maybe God sent it.
Say we had poetry then and the words in that book
pierced our hearts as Cupid would much later in our lives, 
opened them wide with awe and hope, like the hymns we'd sing 
in church choir dressed in pale blue robes performing 
the same way we had to the rest of the week at home. 
Say this book of poems 
fell from the sky into our laps one night, the words 
filling our souls with so much light 
we couldn't hold it, we would burst into stars
we had to make up our own songs — me the melody, you the harmony,
and those songs were ours, forever, we would never forget them.
Say we had poetry then and our songs drifted out the cranked-open 
window and floated into that southern California night, the sky 
balmy with the ocean so close by, what if our voices
swam into the mist that gathered in droplets on car windows 
by morning and burned off by noon, like the blue fog did
each Sunday on the coast in summer, by the time we got to our haven,
the beach, and ran from the station wagon across the sand 
into the waves without a sound and floated out into the salt water
as if we'd found a new womb to rock us.
Say we had poetry then, and our songs flew out the open window
of our room and into the neighbors' houses the next morning 
through screen doors, the sound so sweet — who can possibly resist the 
voices of innocent girls — and what if those songs somehow transformed
their lives, as they couldn't ours, for our paths were preordained,
I see now, but what if the words that escaped from our throats 
back when darkness was safer than light, when silence 
seemed the only reasonable reply, say those songs actually made it 
out from between our lips and helped someone live a better life. 
Made the Vietnam war death of Lieutenant Jordan next door 
easier for his widow and daughters to bear, made the eyes 
of those two ugly girls in the house on the other side shine with 
themselves and their fate. 
Say we had poetry then, later, of course, 
after the light became safe, 
after the silence became 
unbearable.