| Author | Message | ||
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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4163 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention The Broom Maker of Landor Lauriette (Laurie Byro) After you leave, I concentrate on my work. Measuring straw against a life. The sun slant reminds me how many days— the grip of rays that holds my hands measuring and cutting the weight of us. We are ambitious to think I can sweep you out like cobwebs. Once, I saw you on horseback. We both pretend, concentrate on the ordinary business of lilacs, heavy with bees. Your horse stopped by a stream to drink, to quench its thirst. I thirsted but waited until you were gone. I hungered for an apple but Satan wasn’t nearby. I fell asleep, the heady perfume of sunshine and bees lulling me. When I awoke, my fingers were deep inside. How do you measure longing? We are back to that. I am better at finding the best handle for each broom. We are weightless as straw, what’s left of us, anyway. I can conjure you with my hands. This new trade that I perfect, this filling up of hours. |
