Poem: Howie Good

Towards an Autobiography Written in Braille

1
I was born at six in the evening. Rumors that the doctor wore black gloves are untrue. A mouth rimmed in salt pressed against mine. I thought I was dead. I wished I was dying.

2
There were five men in the café with hats before them on the table. I murmured into my walkie-talkie while glancing frequently in their direction. Under one of the hats was a revolver. The sky tilted, but only for an instant.

3
I came to a fence and climbed over it and then realized I had forgotten my book bag on the other side. A bird fluttered up. Not everybody knew all the words, and still the air was full of beautiful voices.


Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of four poetry collections, most recently Dreaming in Red, from Right Hand Pointing. He is also the author of numerous chapbooks, including The Devil’s Fuzzy Slippers from Flutter Press and Personal Myths from Writing Knights Press. He has two other chapbooks forthcoming, Fog Area from Dog on a Chain Press and The Death of Me from Pig Ear Press. In addition, he is editor of twenty20 journal and co-publisher of White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely and co-editor of cur-ren-cy with Wisely and F. John Sharp.

Comments
One Response to “Poem: Howie Good”
  1. rdl says:

    so surreal, so nice…

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