About this episode
A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.
Then maybe it would mean something
E E Nisbet
Then maybe it would mean something:
If your sorry could un-scream,
vacuum spit-sprayed particles,
suck up fucks, threats and bullshit,
Un-drink, choke it back into the glass,
take back your money,
If your sorry could drag up
dregs of saline from blotted paper,
Sculpt it back into a tear or two
and roll them backwards up my face,
If your sorry could un-scar my skin,
build the sharpener back together,
Draw together the wet ravines of skin like a zip,
un-lift the flap of scab, un-open
the sealed-shut mouth of a silvering scar,
un-lick the wounds,
If my okay could un-crash those cars,
fuse together splintered glass, pull spines
Back into alignment, un-slip discs,
stitch back skin spread thin across tarmac,
unblock the roads,
More from E E Nisbet ↓
- @_.eva_.n on Instagram
- She offers writing on commission. DM her for more info.
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Write After with One Poem Only
Write After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.
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One Poem Only — Then maybe it would mean something by E E Nisbet | One Poem Only. Machine-transcribed; use the interactive transcript above to jump the player to any line.
This is one poem only, no analysis, no noise, just a little space to listen. This April is right after. Pay attention to what this poem is doing, then try it yourself. Write your after poem at hashtag right after opio, or leave it in the comments on substack and Spotify. This poem is by E.E. Nisbit. Listen to the episode, then write your after poem. Then maybe it would mean something. If your sorry could unscream, vacuum spit-spread particles, suck up fucks, threats and bullshit, undrink, choke it back into the glass, take back your money. If your sorry could drag up drugs of saline from blotted paper, sculpt it back into a tear or two and roll them backwards up my face. If your sorry could unscarry my skin, build the sharpener back together, draw it together
the wet ravines of skin like a zip, unlift the flap of scab, unopen the sealed shut mouth of a silvering scar, unlock the wounds. If my okay could uncrash those cars, fuse together splintered glass, pull spines back into alignment, unslipped discs, stitchback skin spread thin across tarmac, unblock the roads. By E.E. Nisbit, she is available for commissioned writing, and you can find her on Instagram at underscored.eva, underscored.n. Thank you for listening. Some travel best when they're shared. Pass this one along.
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