Friday writing practice.

by Dave

I couldn’t conquer straight.
Axis flipped
from dees to pees
on chalk painted lines.

My hand
starting large and looped,
faded in embarressment.
Running east to west
folding,
cramped and crumpled.Sloping lower,
the startling white
on new cleaned black
accentuates the strokes
of letter blindness.

The cursive I desire
crashes in a crooked sea.
Waves of cresting vowels
collapsing,
into the whirlpool
of twisted consonants.

Gees and Ees
parry and joust
and twist about.
Trembling hands
can not craft
what inverted eyes see.

The screech of chalk
protests each attempt.
The dusty white ghosts,
motes that dance and weave,
spinning spells in dry air

While I, a child
scrawl the hills and valleys
of a well loved language
before eyes that see
the boldness of illiteracy.

 

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