Becoming the Poem

Rebecca Cook

I have no direct evidence that you exist
somewhere in America reading this poem
in a café or in bed or maybe in McDonald's,
twisting your red and yellow seat back and forth,
your bottom lip held between your teeth.
I don't know if you can hear me in these words,
if you can feel my fingers tapping on this keyword
in this November morning or if you can see me sitting
in my husband's dead aunt's decaying chair wearing my
father's old white sweat pants. But let's pretend you can and
let's pretend I can see you wherever you are, with whatever
damned literary magazine might decide to publish this evidence
of me held in your hands. Wherever you are I love the fact of
you picking me up. I love the slight curve of your mouth while
you read this, your body slumped in the chair, your coffee or
diet coke propping this book open while you're reading, helping
me write, doing this together with me and because I can see you
and you can see me I'm reaching through the page in your direction
right now. Do you feel my hand on your hands, my love on your
love, my morning on your morning, my words in your mouth, in
your mind waking the idea that was sleeping in both of us,
becoming the poem.

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Rebecca Cook writers poetry and prose. You can find her poems online at Adirondack Review and Slow Trains. Her essay, "Soaping the Stream," originally published in the May, 2002 issue of Northwest Review, was nominated for a Pushcart. Look for her new fiction online in the January, 2004 issue of Carve and visit her website, rebecca’s box.