Winner of the Editor's Choice Award in Furman University's Literary Journal The Echo
Scene on top of scene, a sharp-corner
perfect book. The thrill of breath, of arrival,
of being ready for a reader’s eyes.
An author friend of mine had brought
a pantheon of crystal worlds to life.
I loved his words, so let him glance at mine.
And then I learned that a single word,
a pronouncement from just the right person
will turn to dust what little life I make.
I am grateful, in a bitter way.
He killed my creation,
gently,
before it could be jaded by the world—
before it could reach and strain
and fall all the further for having caught
a single glimpse of the open sky.
I would have fallen with it.
So there it sits, crisp edged, dull white.
No licked thumbs, dog-ears, margin pen.
Finished. Unpublished. Stillborn.
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