Poem of the Day

Posted on April 24th, 2012


You'd think if I got lost, someone would miss me,
or notice only air where I had been.
And so they would
wonder out loud
where I'd gone, how long
since anybody'd seen me.
Had I said good-bye,
called, written,
(As though words might be made to answer.)

They would - though not right away perhaps -
have made inquiries.
They who make so many sorts of things.

But no one's noticed
I am gone.

Because I'm standing here
they will refuse to wonder
or inquire.
They will not look for me.

And some old woman answers my front door.
My ailments wrack her frame.
She wears my shoes.
She tries get my bearings.
I tell her she should
let somebody know.
She says
she can't think
or what to say.

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Ruth Andrews - May 26th, 2012 at 5:46 PM
I just read Final Dispositions in the Pushcart Prize. I'm interested in your workshops. is there more info about, price and location? Are there still openings?
- May 26th, 2012 at 6:06 PM
If you contact me through the contact page on this website I would be happy to give you all the info on the workshops this summer....and yes I do have room in memoir and in fiction workshops
Rayla - October 4th, 2012 at 12:05 AM
reading ... re- reading.... love your work....

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