Notebook

[changelingchild]

One day, walking, I found a notebook
Tattered and filthy it was plastered to the sidewalk
On a whim I pried it from the cement
Sitting down, the curb digging into my bones
I turned crusty pages, thick with dried rain
It was filled with scribbles and scrawling
Then I came across a poem
Nearly indecipherable, but still there
I paused a breath, then turned
Quickly home with long steps
Until I reached the drive, then up the incline
To the big, green trash can
Where I buried the notebook under black bags
And sticky, stinking grime
I walked into the house to wash my hands
Burning in my denim pocket was a poem
That I had no right to have

[cogs]

ha, you had me thinking you trashed it all. so ironic that such a revered poem should have such an ignominious history; then, separated from what didn't belong, like a sculpture. wow, this is really how poetry, discarded by us, probably touches off another's inspiration.

[Pensive]

A really touching poem.
I will also like to appreciate cogs' comment on it, seems to describe the whole scenery so well.

[qimissung]

very vivid picture of how poetry that we love seems so intensely powerfully ours.