Dear Desk

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Desk

What do you do on Sundays?
Do you miss me?
Do you miss the busy clatter of our class?
Do you wish I was there
scooting in, scooting out,
my knees tickling you
under your chin?
Or do you spend your Sundays listening
to the humming night-sounds
of school,
remembering the years
you lived in the woods
a friend of sky
and birds?

A poem of address to the desk. What would you want to say to your desk?

© Elizabeth Steinglass, all rights reserved, 2015

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