I like singers with forty-a-day voices,
Dark angels exiled centuries ago
From the heavenly choir.
I like singers with mascara streaked eyes,
With sweat-soaked curls
And a gaze that reaches to forever.
I like singers with naked feet
And a naked soul.
I like singers whose voices make me shiver
Like the touch of a finger
Gently down my spine.
Most of all
I like singers who know
That this broken hallelujah
May be all there is,
And still they sing.
Notes: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that engages with another art form – it might be about a friend of yours who paints or sculpts, your high school struggles with learning to play the French horn, or a wonderful painting, film, or piece of music you’ve experienced – anything is in bounds here, so long as it uses the poem to express something about another form of art.”