Mario Petrucci
There Was A Time
when the angled length of a pencil
was enough
to stir you to a yelp
because it went with your book, because
it was red.
A time when a blow-fly on the carpet
brought hands,
pupils, lips together
in the gentle effort to commune.
When words were taken for what
they are:
not air-laid mines
awaiting the foot put wrong.
There was a time such things
could happen -
and they filled all
our spaces; and yet, always in the wings
there was time.
Page(s) 38
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