FAVORITE PLACES TO WRITE
This could be a poem about windowed dens
that face the sea, or closets with doors
that dull midnight typewriter racket.
This could be a poem about a camper
parked at Shakori* or the public library
every Wednesday afternoon.
The first word written where and how:
on a cave wall with a fireblackened stick
or carved with a sharp instrument into a tree,
On scrolls of parchment with quilled ink,
recipes for India dye hazardous when
swallowed or pricked into the skin,
With thumb-tapping a virtual keyboard
on glass that looks just like a yellow pad
lined blue, the first few pages torn away.
Like turning away from a closing casket
this poem will be left behind, for the reader
slouched in a hammock or favorite chair.
Mary L. Barnard