I lift heavy words for a living,
extracting them from dark pockets
among the ganglia.
They hibernate,
too shy to take a first step,
careful not to appear too eager
to emerge.
I give them life, poke and prod them,
make them want to grow up and go into the world.
When they’re smooth and finished,
the rough edges gone.
I hand them over to others,
my part done.
© 1999 - French Bread Publications/Marcia Kaplan