"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:
i like this poem.
it's so....cotempo?
and not just because the author is cute.
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
i decided not to be a secret reader anymore. your poems are beautiful.
thank you everyone.
anne, i am excited you have a blog. now ill be a not-so-secret reader.
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.
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