the selected



I have read the poems of

the new poems of

the selected

I spell anthology with a comma

hidden between the leaves

of a tree a poet drew

when the printer failed

but not Gutenberg

although his trial was awkward


I have ways of entering a city

and its patterns although

enjambment at rush hour

frustrates the alphabet,

most notably the letter ‘w’

with its wide arms and need

to be more than the rest.

I have heard the songs of

the old songs of

the best of

I lick my fingers before playing

the cello, tasting music

that might come if I water the beds

I like the type of agriculture

that skims milk and butterflies.

When you lift a fallen semi quaver

question its origins

if it comes from a city

I might know its patterns

it might have been in a poem of

the new poems of

the selected



cecilia white   cw 

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Those w's - always get crushed on that pointy ^ in the middle!


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