Edna

(In which my writer’s block worked with a dose of sentimentalism.)

***

I stared at the clean, white sheet of blankness
and watched the blackness glide along purity.
Black on white,
Lines on surface,
Curves on flatness,
Words on paper,
Linear movement,
No thoughts.

Your name spoke louder
and stood blacker than the rest.
Black on white,
Curves on flatness,
A word above others ,
Linear stillness
standing solitarily
above thoughtless words.

If you decide to erase traces,
unlock braces and build fences
and hazy mazes, I’ll comply.
Well, a friend doesn’t leave
but stays stamped somewhere deep
somehow,
leaving traces the way lead does on paper.
Yes, the way lead does on paper
where the point pressed deeply.

I stared at the scribble-covered sheet of white, blotted by brine
and watched the ink crawl to the edge of watermarks.
Lines on surface,
Curves on flatness,
Words on paper,
Linear movement,
Attempts of becoming thoughtless
but not numb.

Then I remembered I was wearing red. . .