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Connections
by Barbara Reheir-Meyers
I live in a paper world
surrounded by spring clips
and submissions,
punctuated by orts left
on bits and pieces of paper;
snippets from a banquet
of tasty trochees and iambic infinitum.
I stare at the computer
willing it to write for me
until the screensaver glides
my family across the monitor.
Faces on the face of my PC.
From a Brooklyn cemetery,
Mother’s marble monument
stares stonily back at me
Then, there’s three wise guys
waiting for a train;
Children wade in aqua pools.
Grey ghosts and living reminders
are poised to jump into my lap;
to be immortalized inside some scrap
of poem waiting to be written.
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