My name is Podrig Otuma, and I'm always interested in what a poem says, but also what it says in what it doesn't say.

Poems on the page have a line break or stanza breaks, lots of blank space on the page, perhaps, and recited poems also can have the intake of breath or a pause, and all of that can allow space for the imagination

of anticipation what's going to come next what's the person going to say you might guess and then

they turn it around in such a way that you're reflecting not only in what you've heard but also on

what was implied and the difference between what you

anticipated and what came. And in that way, a poem can have a ghost of itself, the presence of an

omission, perhaps, and the inference of everything that's coming to you. And I love what it is that a poem

does in this way. It's like it's got echoes of all of its previous edits

of all of the ways in which the poem is trying to say something new

and all of the language that's present but only implied

through all of the unfilled space of the page.

Hashtag T-D-O-R by Rachel Mann.

Will you? Would you please come?

We know, we really do know how busy you must

and it would be

and season

season of remembrance too

only makes more powerful

amidst poppies and holy ones

and time of shadow

it only adds

to poignancy remembering and the lads and saints

...