NOTCHES
I must make notches in my days
because I cannot bear this slide
towards infinity.
I must chip a little wedge from
mundane chores,
indent the grass on sunny lawns,
slice a little feeling from a
glance,
fold down the corners of a
conversation,
and wrap my fingers round a curl of
smoke.
.
Copyright Ruth
Hartley
Written in Lusaka – I
don't know when – there was no notch in that day though less slide.
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