Saturday, September 17, 2005

Untitled Poem until my wife forces me to come up with something

My wife distrusts silence.
She fills it
covers it like a Band-aid
Wills it away
"It's alright. It's okay."
She urges me to sing.

While I sing songs here
You can hear
In the margins:
"No, sing to me"
Like a child
with endless impatience

After the last syllable sung
You can find her tugging
At the corner of this page
Like a Band-aid

It’s alright. Just sing.

Sing to me.


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