A rubber stamp, a broken green crayon, a playing card warning you not to smoke—
Scree of children from around the room that I collected in my hand at the end of the day—
Overwhelmed at where to put the tiny, disparate pieces that shape the cacophony—
Not yet formed, not yet melodious—
I wanted to keep the handful because I could not separate the pieces—

This article appears in May 2014.

Join the Conversation

1 Comment

  1. i love you and miss you dear friend. thank you for this perfect poem and our perfect friendship.

    Reply
Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *