almost enough

it is a conceit
I know
but hopefully a small one
I can’t help it because I half-suspect
that I am past my time
that there may be no more
that I am only what I see here
held before my eyes
a few lines in tiny chap-books
and journals and rags
there may be no more

this game of making stories is a wonder
called from mind to page
one moment there is nothing
and then
an opening line
a shape emerging into stanza
a moment in a lifetime caught
just like a photograph
it’s almost enough

but I am more hungry than that
I want to know that someone somewhere will read it
write back to say they saw the places that I saw
with their fingers marked the lines I drew on sand
or how I could have told the whole thing better
and that is almost enough

today I opened up a journal at the index
ran my finger down a line of names
I stopped beside one that’s quite familiar

it’s a conceit I know
and I hope it’s no more than a small one
but I believe that I am playing within  magic
and need to draw and hold my breath awhile
feel my heart beat faster
because my name is there
and my verse is there

I don’t know if it will happen again
but it’s almost enough


© Frank Prem, August 2002

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10 thoughts on “almost enough

  1. I was just going to say I loved this poem, but there’s more: I read it and saw the faces of my children in class, with hands raised, nearly bouncing out of their seats with that need to answer my questions, to connect… I’m like them, and your poem made me feel that quiet thrill keenly. Thank you, and Happy New Year!

    Liked by 1 person

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