This is not a love poem, 1895
Angels were not
coursing through us.
It wasn’t as though
I couldn’t think for days.
We touched hands
quite by accident.
Quite.
Too much to do
in those missionary meetings
to let my mind
linger on
imagining the bend
of a man’s neck
as he bowed in prayer,
to wonder
if it would bend
just that way
to find my lips.
***
Hello Friends,
Today’s poem is an unpublished (yet? to my knowledge) work of Maia McAleavey, written in 2001.
April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. You can always learn more about National Poetry Month or sign up for a more official-like poem-a-day list at www.poets.org, the website of the Academy of American Poets.
Enjoy.
Ellen