Sunday, April 3, 2016

Red Pen, Brown Paper: A New Poem

Red Pen, Brown Paper

A writer without her notebook
is a coffee drinker
with a cup of tea
               a rummaged red pen
               and a recycled napkin
outside the tire shop
waiting in the winter sun

to erase the evidence
of that day          when she jumped the curb
in a slow hurry.

How easy it would be
to ignore the gash—
tires don’t bleed, after all—
and to deny that the sun’s rays
               warm on her neck
do not irradiate skin
and that no one she knows
is close to dying.
Only love in the world today
please, scratched in red ink
only love
in the clerk’s eyes
only patience
waiting in the winter sun
for two new tires
to keep her safe
and balanced
at seventy-five on the freeway

when the sun is in her eyes.

by Andi Penner, 2016

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