What words do to me every week?

I can't hide my naivete. There are so many poets out there, all whose names I can't even remember, who write so [...] that I [...]. 

I will quote a few lines from the poems I read this week:

"How rich the yellow couscous on the tongue.

Each grain opens to steam, like pores on skin.

Winter’s cold spins in a leaf’s brittle arrow.

A ledge of fat collects on the lip of the bowl."

- Zeno's Paradox, Luisia Igloria.

Doesn't it feel as though she is uttering each word with careful deliberation?

One friend I know who practices poetry maintains that poetry shouldn't be dissected. I feel as nervous as when I first cut a live breathing frog open on my wax tray to see its entrails. It was such a fuming experience that I feel like holding my breath for a while or washing my hands every time I recollect. I always get lured into digressions easily.

Anyways, the reasons why I like a poem is because either it is stylish or as a whole it makes a statement. This was both. There is a particular line that I feel tempted to quote. I however wouldn't quote it just that you might read the rest of the poem for yourself because I want you to.

This week I discovered a wonderful poet: Reetika Vazirani. I loved her - each of her poems that I read. I was deeply saddened to find out more about her life. When I had read her poems I had no idea about who she was or what was her story. I just loved her. I will write more about her poems (that I read) some other day.