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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72" style='word-wrap:break-word'><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>Hello all-<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I wanted to share this poem and the poem that inspired it. Thanks for reading and comments welcome <a href="mailto:anniecms64@gmail.com">anniecms64@gmail.com</a> .<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>In response to Jonathon Cheu’s poem, Wale.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>By Ann Chiappetta<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>To those who ask, How do I know I am alive?<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It is A crescendo of rushing white water filling<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>A quiet pool<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It is the stream of blood red vino <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>streaming from a wineskin into a thirsty mouth.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It is awakening in the dunes, <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>entwined with another in long-expired desire <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I did not know me; I did not care to <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I wondered instead<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>One day, the crafting cracked open the knowing<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>spilling The yolk <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>murky globules of egg white absorbed into the earth<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>sampled and digested<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>decided what I tasted was me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Wail<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Johnson Cheu<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>for the young who ask, “How did you learn to like yourself?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>There are glaciers, imposing, yet shrinking.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>There is the iris, violet sky cradling shards of sun.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The white Bengal tiger, snow and black ink.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Infinite reasons I could give for gladness,<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>though none may salve the wound from which<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>your question arises, how to be glad to be alive?<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Stitch your heart’s fissure: recall family, friends,<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>a slap, cigarette burn, the rod, something smashed <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>down, or welled up in your darkened pupil.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Turn outward: two A.M. streets, the creeps in cars,<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>the chaos of human folly delivered by calm,<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>coiffed news anchors. The wound is within you<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>and not. The answer within you and not.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Want, comfort, desire, love ought not be wounds.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>We pine for them from our first wail,<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>what you must give and take, till no voice is left.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Johnson Cheu is a poet and assistant professor in the department of writing, rhetoric, and American cultures at Michigan State University.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;mso-ligatures:none'>Ann Chiappetta M.S.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;mso-ligatures:none'><a href="http://www.annchiappetta.com/"><span style='color:#0563C1'>http://www.annchiappetta.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;mso-ligatures:none'>Making Meaningful Connections Through Media<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;mso-ligatures:none'><a href="mailto:Ann.m.chiappetta@gmail.com"><span style='color:#0563C1'>Ann.m.chiappetta@gmail.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;mso-ligatures:none'>Blog: <a href="http://www.thought-wheel.com/"><span style='color:#0563C1'>www.thought-wheel.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><span style='font-size:12.0pt;mso-ligatures:none'>914.393.6605<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:10.5pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif;color:black;mso-ligatures:none'>"Trust dreams. Trust your heart, and trust your story."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:10.5pt;font-family:"Arial",sans-serif;color:black;mso-ligatures:none'>- Neil Gaiman</span><span style='mso-ligatures:none'><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>