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Why Write?
- Like a child on a swing, poetry sweeps me up
- where the sky is so clear I don't want to come down.
- But if I see a broken egg shell on the ground
- and wonder where they go after the shell falls away
- poetry will give me the sound of quiet flutterings.
- I write to observe such silences like my mother's
- last mutterings, or my father arranging space
- in his room not knowing he was giving order to life,
- a gift to his daughter; or a student in my office
- telling me he wants to write.
- I write to remember their words, their faces, the way
- they said "Hello, honey" or goodbye, the shadow
- of the plum tree that follows me whenever pen and
- paper meet, listening to a few leaves circling.
- I write to know I'm not alone.
12/13/03
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