Writing

Always November

Poem • November 1, 1999


a distant bell rings
like an alarm clock accidentally set
on an empty Saturday morning

feet maneuvering through
carpet cities and valleys
of instrument cases, sneakers,
and Tori Amos CDs

the four seasons
rushing by in an hour
filling the empty spaces
where the alphabet fails to hold
enough letters for me
to say what I really mean


Notes

Previously unpublished.


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