For years I’ve been told
“you’re a great writer.” With that
paycheck comes belief.
Compensation
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For years I’ve been told
“you’re a great writer.” With that
paycheck comes belief.
Now I blog somewhere
else. A paid professional,
thousands read my work.
Congratulations
follow me like flies all be
cause of my new job.
Today it didn’t
happen. But I thought it would.
What does Facade say?
Breakfast meeting. Lunch
meeting. Outside, homeless men
plead, Will work for food.
When you’re not here we
skip dinner, fall asleep with
the TV still on.
We’ve shut the windows.
Pulled out sweaters, pulled on socks.
A fall admission.
Undereye circles
purple as grapes, lids heavy
as harvest-ripe vines.
I was first published
in Seventeen magazine
thirty years ago.
I’m unsure whether
joy or terror will greet the
news that I am live.