Sketching in Periodicals
today, in the mellow gold of the library,
I scraped the lines of your arm,
tracked the ruffled arc of your hair
as it crept into curls around your ear.
The gentle curve of your fingers were childlike,
vulnerable-
your eyes so smooth,
gray swoops on my page
and I stared and stared at the way
the ridge of your nose slipped into your eyebrow.
It took time for me to get that right.
when I was done, you were there
dropped in the margins of my Economics notebook,
where I could shuffle back
and locate you easily;
quietly nestled between Positive Externalities
and the Law of Diminishing Returns.
I watched your face a minute longer
and suddenly
wanted to reach across the table
to rub your forehead, as if you were my little brother
sleeping on the couch on a Sunday
afternoon.
