HOW I USED TO DO IT

I look at my right hand —

forefinger, middle —

and my thumb.

 

For years

they grasped a pen

and poetry happened

through them.

 

Then

three years ago

I was seduced

by keyboard’s ease.

 

There was something

about that grasping

that I once missed.

 

I  felt a mild distress.

 

Eventually

that mild distress mellowed

and became nostalgia.

 

I look at my right hand now

and there’s nostalgia there.

 

Nothing more

but pleasant memories.

 

It’s how I used to do it.

That’s all.

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