Wednesday, May 01, 2019

Image, a poem


I remember meeting
only because someone
took a picture. There
I am, at your side,

on folding metal chairs.
One convention or
another; I’m sure we talked
about books. I probably

called you ‘Chip.’ Or not.
The image has taken the place
of memory, become memory.
Do you remember too?

Stephen Brooke ©2019

This is about meeting a rather well-known author (who shall remain nameless) many years ago. And I very much doubt he remembers it. :)

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