Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Taking Poetic License


In Class
For Tom

Some days
you worry paper
into loose fabric,
your hands
soundless crickets,
your slender
fingers
in heated rhythm.

Other days
you spin over
one or two
dreadlocks
whispered
into autumn
dry cattails
between
smooth palms.

I am distracted
enough
to write you
into this poem,
to sit at my desk
sliding
hand over hand,
(listening but) hearing

nothing.





L.A. Rice
2001

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