A week or so ago, as part of our house purge, Katie and I were going through an old drawer of photos, greeting cards, and memorabilia from our vacations. Oddly enough, I found a scrap of paper amongst all the stuff with some of my handwriting on it in the form of poems.
And they weren't poems I wrote to Katie. It was, in fact, a first and second draft of a poem I wrote for a contest back in grad school that netted me a bunch of signed comics, art prints, and a T-shirt of the comic book Kabuki by David Mack. Yeah, I won the grand prize on that contest and I still have all that stuff (I swore I wrote about it here, but all I can find are off-hand mentions of it and nothing in depth; so I'll have to take a moment some time soon to break them out and photograph it all).
Here it is...
Here is what I wrote (final draft) in case you have trouble zooming in on the photo and my crap excuse for handwriting...
I stand staring forward, counting the ways
In which a stranger's face returns my gaze.
She mimics my motions and then I see
That under the mask, the stranger is me.
I am, by no means, Robert Frost. I'm not even a sad imitation of him. But I wrote it and it relates to what the story was that I had been reading at that time and I was chosen by Mack as the winner. So, Frost or no, I had to at least be decent... or the only entrant... or everyone else really sucked.
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