They’re nebulous things, the steam off a boiling pot, the sweat on a cold glass of lemonade. They wander, uncontained, willful and poems are meant to be vessels, give form to what has none. But souls can’t survive in jars. Like when I was a child and collected lightning bugs, scooped them right out of the air they floated on carefully cupped hands so I didn’t squash them. I put them in an old baby food jar with holes poked into the metal lid, put grass and twigs so they’d feel at home. I wanted them to light my room as I slept, but each morning they’d all be dead. There was air enough to breathe, but their lungs wanted something more. Their lungs were souls and my glass jar a poem that couldn’t hold them.
Shibazrule, aka Lisa D. Chavez, is a poet based in New Mexico. Her poetry books include Destruction Bay (West End Press) and In An Angry Season. (University of Arizona Press). She also writes memoir and fiction, and teaches in the MFA program at the University of New Mexico. She’s delighted to have the opportunity to be Guest Editor here at The Coop for the month of August.