pax
ONE love, blood, life
I read the fragile, perfect words that others write
and ask myself what became of my own,
the painstaking syllables with which
I slept and wrestled for weeks and months.
Then I look at my fingers, not holding a pen
but marking off days, crafting budgets,
paying bills and crossing one digit over another
for luck and efficiency.
The impossible has happened: this girl,
lover of words, has been converted to numbers.
and ask myself what became of my own,
the painstaking syllables with which
I slept and wrestled for weeks and months.
Then I look at my fingers, not holding a pen
but marking off days, crafting budgets,
paying bills and crossing one digit over another
for luck and efficiency.
The impossible has happened: this girl,
lover of words, has been converted to numbers.