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Monday, April 06, 2009

A Possible Change In Direction
Taylor Bratches

Papercut-sized scars have wedged themselves
into the palm of my right hand.
I got them not in a paper plant
nor a schoolhouse, but in a sawmill
and they materialized not from a saw
nor from tools but by tripping over a piece of wood
while grasping a bottle I once used
as a spyglass. The shards shattered in the hand,
blood obscuring reminiscence of crystal.
I felt fortunate, being a lefty.
But now I’m afraid to get my palm read,
my lines a maze of live wires.
Some have already been cut for me and I won’t know
till the time comes if they were the right ones.


Happy National Poetry Month


and credit, again, to http://marvco.com/main/


ash @ 12:12 AM