Monday, October 1, 2007

faces

"You look like her,
when you smile just
like that."


Only, what about
my ears,
how noticeable they become in a ponytail.
The scar on my nose
that someone tried to rub off
thinking it was only pen ink.

It seemed as if she
was non-returnable,
non-refundable, somewhere else
smoking the wooden pipe
and tending to the basil.

And now I have no idea
where I stand. What
my face means to me,
or how my face crosses
the faces of others, or
what would happen if we
were each on the side of
a subway window.

5 comments:

Overwhelmed by the tribe said...

i like this poem.
it's so....cotempo?
and not just because the author is cute.

Zachary German said...

i like your poem on 3am magazine

it uses direct language

i think the longer line was a risk

there were a lot of different ways to say that sentence

i think your choices were good

traffic jam said...

i decided not to be a secret reader anymore. your poems are beautiful.

appleoftheearth said...

thank you everyone.

anne, i am excited you have a blog. now ill be a not-so-secret reader.

Mary said...

I like this one.
Wooden pipes and tending to basil!!
I will try the orange and pear peels and I will dream of vitamin C and pear orchards. And the kitty will remember to pee in the potty.
Love you. Thanks for babysitting the little dude.