by Josie
I contemplate the alphabet—
and return to kindergarten days
of green felt marker streaks
on my peanut butter paws.
The alphabet.
Raw goods
carried my way on a train
puffing along, make way to unload
make way to manufacture,
make way to export!
I rub my eyes with my fists
and remember that
in many ways,
I, too, am an alphabet;
a house of unformed humanity
waiting to be cast and folded
a train load of raw goods
preparing for meaning.
