The Word Project

l(a

le
af
fa

ll

s)
one
l

iness 

 ”l(a” by e.e. cummings

The green shell of his backpack makes him lean
into wave after wave of responsibility,
and he swings his stiff arms and cupped hands,

Paddling ahead. He has extended his neck
to its full length, and his chin, hard as a beak,
breaks the surf. He’s got his baseball cap on

backward as up he crawls, out of the froth
of a hangover and onto the sand of the future,
and lumbers, heavy with hope, into the library.

“Student,” by Ted Kooser.  

What does it feel like to be this shroud
on a hanger, this storm cloud hanging
in the closet? We itch to feel it, it itches
to be felt, it feels like an itch—
 

encrusted with beading, it’s an eczema
of sequins, rough, gullied, riven,
puckered with stitchery, a frosted window
against which we long to put our tongues
 

From “The White Dress,” by Lynn Emanuel 

you fit into me 
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye

from “You Fit into Me” by Margaret Atwood