Mary Shaw

06/05/2017

these thoughts don't mean anything. even the one where someone i know is waiting
and has for me (or for someone else) something like a surprise?
      for the first time in a long time, i seemed to come up empty-handed. there was no little snippet begging for attention. there was emptiness. there was silence. only that in my mind.
      but that doesn't mean things weren't bubbling in there, wherever it is, the morass, the minefield, from which i now find my way slithering.
       i know there were particles forming into images,

images taking on words,

leaving traces on pieces of paper that in time (should i give it) would take on rhythm and substance.
        for one of these was hovering on the far side,

between the table and the bed.

it was a message from a brother, who neither of us really knows. and one was lying flat

on your side,

it was a small square with happy squiggles on it. a message from our son.

Mary Shaw est professeure de littérature française des dix-neuvième et vingtième siècles à l'Université de Rutgers (New Jersey). Outre ses travaux universitaires, elle a publié deux livres pour enfants ainsi qu'un recueil de poésie intitulé Album Without Pictures (Halifax, N. S., Editions VVV, 2008).