When I woke up this morning
I started rifling through my things—
Rifling—I wanted to find this old grade school notebook.
The notebook on whose last pages I drew you.
You had blue eyes and really dark hair.
I feel like crying when I think about this notebook.
I want to cry for you!
I miss your inky gaze;
I miss your inky black hair.
I miss my dream; I miss those scribbles!
Now, after so many years on this not so meaningful road,
I can’t stop looking in other people’s notebooks, books, even first
grade
readers…
I flip through their pages, looking for my ink woman.