Emerging Writer is conducting the Poetry Bus this week and I’m jumping on right at the end of the route with my (entirely fanciful) response to the first prompt.
NO HAND WRITES
No hand writes.
No paper scratched
pretty in pink
or green lined ledger-
stern or headed and
embossed or just
plain white and folded
four times knuckle down
along the cruciform.
No pen thumb-
primed and unmasked
into the air,
to scatter words
like fleabane seeds.
Just the envelope
unnamed,
unaccommodated.
And the envelope
is hollow,
cupped
like an ear
and I have breathed
into it once, wordless
but toxic
and sealed it with
a cat’s barbed tongue.
And now by dark
I slip it
under your locked door
and turn to go.
:::
AUDIO VERSION
