I walk past the April Maple, so full of sparrows it seems the leaves sing, onto the parking lot by the hardware. It's a cloudy morning. I ask: what did my face look like before my parents met? (the sound of a hand clapping) the full circle of the sky stirred my hair. I could see behind my head. I laughed. . . . what does my face look like now? |
Steven Fortney
Milkweed Chronicle, Vol. 3, No 1/2, Minneapolis, MN,
Spring/Summer 1982 Sandscript, East West A Poetry Annual, Vol. I,
Cape Cod Writers, December 1992
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