Markers
For lack of a bookmark
I lost my place
in the book of life.
If only I'd turned down the page
used one of my frizzy hairs
kept my finger in.
Now, I open the book here
open it there
seek familiar words
images
references.
The marks seem strange, meaningless:
she did
she said
she was.
She was?
I must begin again
with a blank page and fresh pen,
form new sentences
new phrases
move forward
word by word
chapter by chapter
and make my final mark.
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