Martin is a pencil point
I'm a stack of scrawling scribbling ink blots
This is Martin writing poetry: 24 lines
Here am I writing a short story: 24 pages
And I have a sneaking suspicion his story is better
It's nice to hold one sheet of paper
with a body and soul on it
I've got a fan of characters
and plot shimmies and blasts
If I let it go in the wind
it would be lost forever
on hedges and in gutters
and in pedestrian faces
if Martin let his go
we'd pin it down
easy as one foot stomping
one short laugh as he bends
folds it in four
sticks it in his pocket
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ps. the picture above is actually a photo of when Martin and I organized his book of poetry for submission: we used the entire living room floor and crawled around among the pages, rearranging--what a good feeling, to be with poems in such a tactile, physical way.
2 comments:
Kim, you know you what you said about Lucia thinking the world around her is "beautiful, well-made, designed with sensitivity and care, and innately creative"? Well, your girls must have the most skewed view of story time with two writers as parents. I think our girls are just going to have to learn that if they want live in a beautiful world, they are going to have to make it so themselves.
Rita, I do hope the girls grow up loving stories as Martin and I do--and you're right--our girls will have lots of beauty to add to the world, I hope. . .
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