To the First Poet I Understood

Dear Langston,

Thank you for freeing me

at age 15
from the stutter and wheeze

of dead language. You showed me

your loopy, jazz, free associations,

the intimations my words

could infer. After reading

Theme for English B, I was

awakened. I heard rhymes

to the water dripping in the shower,

spent hours listening to the grass,

to the sound of breaking glass, tried

to force it all into words I read more,

about landlords, cities, and rivers, dreams

sliding out of reach, heard rhythms

and music I never thought about

before. I thought about

the consonants constancy and

the long low stretch of vowels,

humming inside everything.

Eventually, I moved on, learned

about Jones and brooks, Ginsberg

and Plath, cut a swath

through the last ninety years

of poetry. Still, every time

I teach you, I'm stretching to

reach you, reach back to the time

I first heard the fragile beauty

in simple words.