by Rick K. Reut

 

 A

 R

A   W   O   R   D

 U

 N

 D

 

(WOMAN OF WORDS)

…where letters turn into words 

and words into letters to

someone who always works

to make more dreams come true 

not only on paper. Men 

of letters need women of 

words to show what they’ve seen.

They make intertextual love 

to have children that grow

from a thought to a new 

world, a world we owe 

to women of words like you. 

You are a woman of words 

and letters between two worlds…

…where letters turn into words and words into letters to someone who always works to make more dreams come true not only on paper. Men of letters need women of words to show what they’ve seen. They make intertextual love to have children that grow from a thought to a new world, a world we owe to women of words like you. You are a woman of words and letters between two worlds…

(SOMEONE LIKE YOU)

…with it. Another day

is starting to slip away.

Can you still hear me

at least in your memory?

I talk to myself and to

you or someone like you.

I talk to myself about three

times a day. Planting a tree

of that knowledge, I grow

food for thought on this snow-

white sheet of paper. Can

I ever become a man

of letters? Sometimes I wage

wars of words on a page

of someone’s book. I still

sit by the window sill,

listening to the door-

bell not ring anymore.

As I stare at the wall,

I wait for the night to fall

for you. In the silence of

the evening, I fall in love…

…with it. Another day is starting to slip away. Can you still hear me at least in your memory? I talk to myself and to you or someone like you. I talk to myself about three times a day. Planting a tree of that knowledge, I grow food for thought on this snow-white sheet of paper. Can I ever become a man of letters? Sometimes I wage wars of words on a page of someone’s book. I still sit by the window sill, listening to the doorbell not ring anymore. As I stare at the wall, I wait for the night to fall for you. In the silence of the evening, I fall in love… 

(SO DOES THE SNOW)

…now, though. The snow

covers the pane.

The town starts to slow

down like a train

of thoughts at a station.

No one seems to know

the exact destination

of any snow-

storm. While I

sit at my desk,

time passes by

what looks like a mask

on the face of the earth.

This time should stay

till the next birth

cycle. The day

breaks into bits

of memory

like all the streets

we once felt free

in. Windows freeze

in frames. It looks

like all the trees

are from picture books.

So does the snow.

It shines like a sheet

of paper. No 

one writes on it…

…now, though. The snow covers the pane. The town starts to slow down like a train of thoughts at a station. No one seems to know the exact destination of any snowstorm. While I sit at my desk, time passes by what looks like a mask on the face of the earth. This time should stay till the next birth cycle. The day breaks into bits of memory like all the streets we once felt free in. Windows freeze in frames. It looks like all the trees are from picture books. So does the snow. It shines like a sheet of paper. No one writes on it…

AUTHOR’S ANNOTATIONS

The three pieces above are excerpts from the author’s manuscript Around A Word, which is a collection of cyclic verse that presupposes a poem having no beginning or end and working in both rhyme and prose. 

The poem (Someone Like You) is dedicated to Natalia Antonevich, aka Антоневич Наталья Георгиевна.