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I love pencils
the way they rest,
cradled by the thumb
in the fingers of my speechless hand.

I love the way they feel,
smooth & firm
sometimes round
sometimes hexagonal.

I love the Dixon Ticonderoga
Faber Castell
American Eagle,
but especially the Venus Velvet
No 2's of my childhood.

I love the way they nuzzle
the fibers of the page,
the sounds they make
caressing letters onto paper
giving voice to words coaxed
from mind to nerve to muscle
through arm & hand & fingers.

I love the deliberate sound,
staccato strokes,
intentionally made crossing t's
carving capital letters
thrusting downward strokes of l's
for life & love & lavender.

I love the soft gray trail
of graphite word images
revealing inner thoughts
of mind & soul

that sing & cry, ponder & poke
& sometimes spell things out
in ways I had not intended.


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