Sometimes the letters look like smiles leaning on one another
Each curve reaching out to grab the end of the next
like the hand of a child finding her mother's as they cross the street
Sometimes they bump together, crowded
little black birds on a wire vying for space, trying to push the last into the canyon
or the end letter stretches languidly, a cat
luxuriating in her ability to expand and touch the edge.
Above the sacrifices,
long tracks like scattered hay dropped for emphasis,
the shadows of a hundred years and a thousand silver fingertips,
remind the letters to keep still, for now.
And the parted sea between them
waits for my eyes and my voice to jump in.
--written mostly on the F train en route to a party in Brooklyn last night.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r7rdXkOQBgsN1mzb1DW3WC2PFPUUo3X_1Pp-eTGHyZ5cy0Rqh5l7tFNsXODOcPjJrgZoz93jrjWwtbguCMxlaHR5SMB9dalK20zgNpOmJmeRSYInCL9_ukpyBpSRMdD1UMzM/s200/Torah-scroll-1.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment