nearly a poem

 Lawd, I done cracked my iPhone’s screen,

Dang, but it’s the wust trouble I ever seen,

If’n I kin git it fixed, mebbe I won’t feel so mean....

— Postcards From Red Squirrel Trail

Maurice Chevalier: Your maman was a married woman.

Audrey Hepburn: I’m SO glad ....

he wrote it and he called it a poem

he wrote a poem about the things he sees

the hair of the person sitting before

the toes of the shoes of the person sitting behind

both black and with its own particular shine

the black cat crouched beneath the rose-bush the cat running from the sound of his voice

the green of the leaf the red of the single blossom

the green of the tag at the black cat's neck the sound of the tag in the collar as the cat runs

the black of the laptop of the person sitting beside

the gentle black of his suit the cut of the suit

the black of his hair the black of his turban

the smell of the green leaf the scent of the red blossom

the feeling in his ears as he walks into the silence of the small backyard

for there is a feeling that is a special feeling

apart from the silence itself

and if he could get at that feeling why

he would write a poem

and the sky would weep

and the tears would be joy

and that black cat would wish it had stayed indoors

(...nearly a poem)

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