L.R. Harvey Poetry

annotations + trauma Do you have sticky notes?  For what?                  Don’t we have to annotate?   Yes, but you own the book.  I won’t invite the chaos to  the clean .  [His eyes, his past, are dark. He’s seen the abyss. What else should I have said?]    Yellow or red?

an unanswered question  Despite popular demand  I’ll never be sure.    But you’re  the teacher .  Define that.  You feed us knowledge .  You’re hungry, but  most days all I have to offer are saltines.  But why saltines? Because, most days, that's all I have to eat. I cannot share what I do not have myself. They make us thirsty . Me too. I f you find water, lead me there.

wandering I do not feel him near .  The forest is often lonely, dark.  Well I’m afraid of dark .                                      You’re right to fear.  I too am terrified of dark things lurking in the shrubbery beside the path.  How can we know  we won’t be eaten?                              We can’t.  So now what?                       So “on we go”  as Gandalf says.                        ...

Defining truth to a left-brained 10th-grader But what is truth?                              It’s when Ms. Martin in  the yellow house is raking up her leaves,  and inside chilling lemonade for all  her sons who’ve moved away.                                              That’s not the truth. Is it a lie?               But really, what is truth?  It’s when a child’s chalky hands peel up  the crispy earthworms in the cul-de-sac,  to ask his sun-burnt friend if he knows why  people and worms go flat.  ...

Telemachus has got me thinking: how can I plan my world in a sane  and thoughtful way?*   Try lying flat, shirtless,  on linoleum kitchen tile, and see the spin  of long-dead skin cells vortex in meaningless  tornadoes around the room.     Or, crack a piece of ice from the pimpled tray, then center it  (just right) beneath the coiled metal beak of the kitchen sink—                   with thumb and finger, twist  the left-hand knob and watch the creature drool  its hot saliva, burrowing inside as if it’s seeking something. Try drawing O’s  with thick-tipped pens— blue fatboy sharpies work best: observe the way they shrink like light-filled pupils,  collapse like weekend plans or Spring-break love.  If thin...