Primed
It was middle June
during the duration of a month that was a wait for each day to come, during that summer when I would turn teen, when I was almost something— way past twelve and counting. It was the middle of day, mid-day heat halfway between cool and hot, a double-handed noonday stroke: the clock's count of twelve reminding me of what I was not. Still a multiple of two, three, four, six, I was a mere factoring
Read the rest here.
Andromeda hosts today's Poetry Friday Roundup at A Wrung Sponge.
This poem fits so well with the book I finished earlier this week: The Age of Miracles. Thanks for sharing. I want to hear more about Oregon!
ReplyDeleteLove that 'double-handed noonday', must be what all teens feel, yearning not to be there, but somewhere else. Hope you had a nice time in Oregon, beautiful places there!
ReplyDeleteOh, I'd highlighted "a double-handed noonday" too! Linda and I are thinking alike. What a great poem. Thanks for sharing, and safe travels back home to our side of the world.
ReplyDeleteUnexpected change of plans: the roundup is at A Year of Reading http://readingyear.blogspot.com/2012/08/poetry-friday-roundup-is-here.html Thanks for changing your link!
ReplyDeleteI LOVELOVELOVE this poem! I didn't realize there was anyone else in the world besides me who thought of birthdays in terms of prime and composite! I'm PRIME until December, when I will acquire the factors of 1, 2, 4, 13, 26 and 52!!
ReplyDelete