April 24, 2007


at a reading by Lucie Brock-Broido, Writers Institute Summer series

Chairs creak, mine politely quiet, but
the impish whine of my gut is like the
anguished air of a twisted thought.

Later, after others loudly flush
run water, crank out clean towels

I speak freely in my tiled stall
break the sudden silence alone
with my most expressive vowels.

(I've been reading this a lot at open mics throughout NatPoMo)

1 comment:

JohnR said...

This is wonderful. I had this experience at Wordfest.