Best Poem of Ulrike Draesner

Forsythias, yellow exploding, still leafless, their dicing
trees bursting buds, what an april.
what a meagre blessing, chestnut
buds on the chrome of cars, what
a meagre rain, forsythias yellow
exploding, what an eruption of leaves,
what for -

bushes. mourning eyes. on
shoots, which starting. which don't.
rain as it falls. as
through strange woods . . .
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What is poetry?
cleaning vacuuming wiping runny noses a scraped knee
stroking tummy to put her to sleep or when it's sore
singing bedtime songs spreading one's legs being
responsive consoling stuffing dirty washing in the drum
for the tenth time fishing pubic hair out of the drain
closing the toilet lid clearing mugs the entire . . .
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