Three Poems Tufik Y. Shayeb
Collision watch for the stop sign etched in the crease of my smile or else you might clip the sharpest edge of how I remember you most crash into this conversation and forget how the parts fit together you may never feel whole again I will bury your kinder words under a snowbank beside the road hoping they will keep, until summer when things go back to normal but when the dogs come scratching and the piles turn into puddles there is only barbed grass and gravel the less-than-kind words those, I will bury under the music of a song that was suddenly paused and picked up again on other side of years for ten years a needle scratched the cd, dancing never came easy in these shoes but now I’ve learned to sway with memory and with the other words the middle words, the lean words the words that catch the blows, that fill the empty spaces of packages the words that reconstructionists can’t figure out how to piece together, I don’t
Lost Lake Folk Opera 27
