Tuesday, April 12, 2011

while headed to the subway...

i hear a father tells his very young daughter
"i hear you are studying poetry."
she might be eight years old and she has fire red hair
he continues
"the thing about poetry is that you want to create an image."
i wonder if she understands what he means by image
i wonder if he understands what he means by image
he zips up her pink backpack as she struggles to keep up with his long strides so they can cross the street before the red hand stops blinking.
i cross their path, just behind them, me and my gray rain boots and dull red hair
definitely after the red hand has stopped blinking.

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