ModPo

I took the wrong turn – or missed my turn – but still reached the bakery, the destination. It’s easy to get all caught up in structure and technique when you are writing/reading prose – but with poetry, anything can happen. A friend – of a new friend, and an old friend, and a distant relative, and a classmate – introduced himself to me. The world is so small. You’d better not mess up! And a homeless man sat at my table, gathering change for a bus ticket to Charlotte. I shook his extended hand, but shushed him – it was during the poetry reading – as any good librarian would. Though I had no change, I thanked him for his company. There are plenty of gypsies and monks – like me – in these hills. And I am learning to love their bending, curving, never-ending ways – they speak to the centripetal forces already in my soul, and carve a path of least resistance through their mountain home.