|
| |
Is that another laugh
I reach for a book
A tiny arm comes out of the spine
The arm slaps my hand
Not that one, my muse suggests
The next novel laughs as I open her
Then she screams
But wait
Is that another laugh?
Have these missives always been alive?
Why has it taken me so long to notice?
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
|
|