Revisions

On Tuesday I started a poem, the first I’ve written in several months. Yesterday I looked at it again. Besides giving it a title, I actually took more time to work on rewriting it. The revision process is strange and sporadic for me. Usually it is a focused process, a few hours at a time throughout a week. However, there are those rare and glorious times when a poem comes all at once and there is no need for revision. All in one sitting the poem is created – sometimes as if not by me. This has only happened a few times, but it is profound when it does. The last time this happened, I received second place in the Wyoming Writers Contest. The poem, like only a small, select number before it, arrived all in one bundle. I can only be grateful and astounded when those moments hit. But this is not one of those times.


Pedestrian


In Xiaoshan
he toes the section of sidewalk
designed for keeping blind men on track.
It is uneven beneath his feet,
like a barcode in cement;
his instep has gotten used to the rough
and has worn a callous.
He stops at a street food vendor,
pays three Yuan for grilled lotus root,
spits out the grains of dirt.
A young boy clips his elbow
and his feet veer just inches off the track.
The tattered scarf around his neck
gestures a summons, the frayed ends
curling upward in a humid breeze;
but he needs no help. After all these years
he still thinks he can see.
He knows when he leaves the north street,
when he crosses the bridge,
when the traffic is heavy.
The scents of piss and stale gardens,
feeling the city walk past him,
and the night market booming low bids,
he doesn’t need to be told it is Thursday.