I Read Three Pages of Poetry Out Loud to Myself

Dear Delyara, I needed language that wasn’t functional. All day I hear language that directs, organizes, warns, reminds, requests, pays, corrects, schedules, soothes. Useful language. Necessary language. Dead language, in a certain sense. So after everyone went to bed, I opened a poetry book and read three pages out loud in the kitchen while the dishwasher ran and the house finally belonged to silence. Beautiful words in my own voice felt almost medicinal. They made me feel like my inner life had not fully dried out. Like I still belonged to something besides utility. Three pages. That’s all. And somehow I went to bed feeling less abandoned by myself.