An erasure poem is one that is created by removing words from an existing document to derive new creative work. This can look like crossing out, or otherwise covering text, also by deleting it entirely. Traditionally a practice of erasure doesn’t rearrange or change the text in any other way. Simply by cutting away from the whole, a new poem is uncovered.

In a meta sort of way, erasure acknowledges that poetry can be found anywhere: medical intake forms, law school text books, government documents, billboards. Erasure can be used as a method to uncover poetry within mundane, everyday life, it can be implemented to combat the rigidity of a traditional Western thinking, and as a way to interject new thinking into an preexisting condition/conversation.

When I encounter an erasure poem in the wild, like when I saw Tracy K. Smith’s, “Declaration,” I get a tingling sensation, an urge of “I need to flip to the back of the book to check and see if it is indeed an erasure poem” and if so, “from which document was it derived?” It is in the index that erasure poems are often acknowledged and accredited, almost like a secret aside from the author, because to add any acknowledgement on the original docu-poem would disqualify it as erasure. The balance is very fine as there are many surrounding forms like the cento, and the found poem that have similar yet different parameters.

If you are ever weary of a blank page, I suggest trying out erasure. You can respond to writers you agree or disagree with. You can take a political speech and flip it on its head. The shape of the original document can let you refocus on shape and line break without all the pressure of making each of those decisions on your own. You can practice physically crossing out lines on the printed page or you can go through digitally and remove text. Another method is to rewrite the text from the original in your own hand, whether typed or handwritten. Push the boundaries with this one, there is great potential for hybridizations and visualizations. Erasure offers endless potential, and with more source materials out there every day, I know I will be returning to this practice time and time again.

🔹Erasure as a form:

Tracy K. Smith’s “Declaration” derived from The Declaration of Independence from her book, Wade in the Water

Excerpt from Mary Ruefle’s Little White Shadow

🔹Erasure as a technique:

torrin a. greathouse’s “Burning Haibun,” from her collection Wound from the Mouth of the Wound

Redacted poems of Philip Metres from Sand Opera

🔹Erasure on instagram: @littlegoldenblackoutpoems

Choose a piece of existing text—a newspaper article, junk mail, an instruction manual, a recipe, a receipt, a page from a book you own, or even the back of a cereal box.

Read through it once without making any marks. On your second pass, begin crossing out words until a new poem begins to emerge. Resist the urge to rearrange the remaining words. Instead, trust that by removing language rather than adding it, you'll discover unexpected connections and meanings.

When you've finished, read the poem aloud. Notice how the original document has changed, and how it may have changed you as a reader.

Keep Writing 💡

Take your time with these prompts, and return whenever you need them. When you're ready for the next step, continue with the Five Forms Workshop.

A History of Postcards

Postcards themselves have been around since the mid-19th century, with the first “official” postcard being sent in 1840. The general idea of the postcard today is that one side is limited to the mailing address of the recipient and a stamp, while the other side is limited to a brief message to the recipient. It is difficult to trace the origins of postcard poems to a specific individual or publication, as they’ve likely been created and shared by poets for many years. Having said that, poets such as those from the New York School in the sixties were known to use postcards to advertise readings, send party invites, and even print individual poems to advertise upcoming books.

What’s Space and Time Got to Do with It?

The concept of a postcard is important to this form. Not only is a poet bound by the space on the postcard, they’re also bound by the spaces in which the postcard is leaving and arriving. Does the poem’s meaning change based on whose hands it passes through? Does the poet consider how much time passes from when they send the postcard to when it arrives? Does the poem remain a stagnant cluster of words on a piece of cardstock, or does it create a sensory experience because the postcard has *literally* been moving through time and place?

How to Write a Postcard Poem

The questions I ask remind me that I’m not writing any ordinary poem – I’m putting myself in the place of sender, recipient, and everything and everywhere this postcard moves through. This is an open letter to be read; every word matters.

🔹 Write from a place: You don’t necessarily need to be there the moment you write, so imagine somewhere you’ve been that you’d like to write “from” (ex. A coffee shop, your living room, an apartment, the bleachers, etc.)

🔹 Go with your senses: When imagining this place, what do you see/hear/smell/taste/feel? Don’t be afraid to get crafty with your language!

🔹 Keep it short and sweet: Remember, a postcard poem is meant to fit onto the back of a postcard. If you want to get real specific with it (which for someone annoying like me I had to), a USPS postcard is 3.5” x 5” and half of that is dedicated to the address line – again, not necessary, but always a good reminder in just how limited space you have!

🔹 Consider your recipient: Who’s this person that you’re spending $0.50 to communicate with them? When you have unlimited texting and emailing and DMing (what’s “calling”?), postcard poems force you to get really purposeful on why you’re sharing a poem with someone in another time and space.

🔹Franz Wright’s “Postcard 2”

🔹Cecilia Woloch’s “Postcard to I. Kaminsky from a Dream at the Edge of the Sea”

🔹Danielle Mitchell’s “Postcard from the House of Mirrors”

🔹Taylor Johnson’s “8th & Ingraham”

Imagine you're writing a postcard to someone. Choose a place to write from—it could be somewhere you've traveled, somewhere you know well, or somewhere you remember vividly. Even better if the place and the person you’re writing to are linked somehow. Let the details of that place shape the poem through sights, sounds, smells, textures, or small observations.

Keep your poem brief, as though it truly must fit on the back of a postcard. Before you finish, ask yourself: Did I use my senses? If not, go back and add at least one color, sound, and smell to the poem.

Keep Going 💡

Try writing a second postcard from the same place to a different recipient. Notice how the poem changes depending on who is reading it.