05
Ars Poetica
A Poem on Poetry
by Heather Steiner | Minneapolis, Minnesota
Once before, a people named
a mystery gift ‘What is it?’
Then they ate it.
For forty years they ate
the mystery, the manna.
The job of The Poet is not
to explain the mystery—
her job is only to name it,
then to eat it.
The Poet knows the way
of the wilderness, circuitous
wanderings, meaningless.
She wakes, hungry to understand;
the mystery is born anew
each morning, and she eats.
Last mystery bite swallowed now,
last poetic ‘t’ crossed, and
The Poet finds her heart crossed.
The mystery tastes truth:
He is the manna from heaven
who said, “Eat, and remember Me.”
Now she eats the Land’s abundance
and the mystery gift ceases.
‘What is it?’ was mystery
and remains mystery,
and ever will be mystery.
The Poet writes the mysteries
and the mysteries write her, too.
She eats them and she eats Him—
and in writing, at last,
she enters His rest.
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