life is not art

THE DAY MY STUDENT TEACHES ME
THAT LIFE IS NOT ART

When in a workshop in a distant city
a student I have never met before
passes out a poem about the night
a man broke into her bedroom
the black wire hairs on his forearms
as he tied her arms above her head
the familiar smell of the pillow he forced
over her face

one part of me wants to point
out to the class her creative use
of specific detail and the other part wants
to take her in my arms as a mother sister
best friend press woman flesh to woman
flesh and howl with her just howl.

Maxine Kumin, And Short the Season Poems

Paul Klee, artist
Paul Klee, artist
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