I fell in love with a man while watching him lace his leather boots
left my phone number in pencil on the wood outside his door
Years later he called me from his tepee on the banks of the Knife River
where he slept among the cottonwoods
In the fall he returned with a piece of flint / warm as the sun
and placed it in my open hand
My reading of this poem on public radio KAXE:
https://beta.prx.org/stories/112472
No attribution available for the photograph.
https://beta.prx.org/stories/112472
No attribution available for the photograph.
wow ... brilliant ... just brilliant ... you are elevating micropoetry to art ... and this image is perfect ...
ReplyDeleteMy turn to say 'WOW.' Thank you so much. It's so fun when I find just the right image...
DeleteI love this!!! love it....
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad you're enjoying this. I love to read your comments.
DeleteThank you so much, Jan.
ReplyDeleteHaving lived in a tipi for two years this struck me. Although winters kept friends away it was a wonderful lifestyle.
ReplyDeleteThe rhythm of this is exquisite. I especially like the years later part. Gotta admit I never knew anyone who had a telephone in a tipi, it must have been a more modern set up than I was used to. Pretty funny though!
Well, he stayed for one long summer and called on a cell phone that he charged with a small solar panel set-up ... seriously.
DeleteI feel the flint in my hand.
ReplyDeleteYes! It's such a good feeling, rubbing that stone, and it's been worked ... which makes it even more special. I'm so glad you commented, Greg.
DeleteGreat writing! That's a novel in 68 words.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much.
Delete