compliments
don’t live here,
but I
like you,
tailor unwilling lips
with whispers to a screen
gone black and a taste like
iron or coffee without cream,
pens always heavy in
hands with opposable thumbs
unmoving —
I fear the English
language that could bury
me in fallacy, death
by asphyxiation and
apocryphal aphorisms —
I speak like I sew (or is
it sow?), which is to say
too late, not often or too
much, but never
enough.
Margaret Drzewiecki is a twenty-something Buffalonian who writes sometimes but wishes it was more. She loves hotel pens and always takes her tea with cream. She wishes people would mail postcards more often.