Wednesday, November 2, 2011


He set his ear under my shoulder
tucked his knees under his chin
handed me a thin book,
colors faded—reds turned to rust,
whites yellowed and smudged.

Read this one, now!

I didn’t take the chance
to remind him
about the magic word,
passed on the opportunity
to enforce proper procedure
for petitioning adults
for stories.

I draped my right arm round him
gave him a small squeeze
while his little sister summitted my left knee,
opened the book, thumbed worn pages,
summoned my best farm-animal voices.

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