5/15/2021

Emily

paper was a luxury, and she wrote on
old envelopes, torn scraps, and thought
herself successful and happy, what I
imagine to be complacent and complete

I have twelve thousand, five hundred sheets
of printer paper, one and a half dozen lined
notebooks, and I, too, am complacent
yet incomplete

my courtesy feels embarrassment
in her presence, as I use a psychological
yardstick to ascertain her livelihood, her
daily ration and ratio of concept to paper

[RK, 5/15/21]
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