I found this poem in an untitled
crossword where Thighs and Ladles
joined in one slender S that reminds
me of the way you lay on your
side, your hips rising up from
your waist then curving slowly
down into your legs. The words
lay together on a colorblind
page, tiny square containers
holding their heads, each letter
body arranged down, across,
connecting or intersecting
with each other. Fourteen
across is empty apart from
an N attached to the waist
of Foundation – a space for me
to linger until my brain bulb
flashes at last, purple marker
satisfying the blankness.
A crossword is poetry – unlikely
words tied together waiting
for a reader’s devotion.
Amanda J. Miller lives in Spencerport, NY and works at The College at Brockport. When she isn’t working nine to five, she spends her time soaking in language, art, and music. She strives to share her writing and her world with others and hopes to have her first collection of poetry published in the near future. Her work has appeared previously on Eunoia Review and on The Ghazal Page.
Excellent, really fine. Sunday afternoon with storm clouds – a sort of peace and a sort of warning and a good solid chill up and down the spine – well done
Thank you, Sandra