Sunday, March 20, 2016


Counterpoint Press, 2016


C L A U D I A     S E R E A

You made me write bad poetry for years

You must stick your head in the oven,

and fake your own death

in every poem,

that critic said.

Honey, you have to open a vein

with your pen

every time.

But I couldn't help it.

I was young

and had a breeze for heart.

I was a bright green leaf

in your arms.

Light passed through my flesh

and refracted

translucent emotions.

I wrote about birds taking flight.

Gosh, white horses,

and poplars with eyes.

For years, I wrote

about being blind.


Claudia Serea
Nothing Important Happened Today
Broadstone 2016