a transcription of the poem read on the home page of this issue

by Mervyn Taylor

They’ll read your works in rooms
where the host describes you as
funny. They’ll touch your hand,
and remind you to sign one for
the daughter they haven’t seen

in years, who’s out on the coast
someplace, having a hard time
coming to terms with a mother
who means well, all her life
seeking everyone’s happiness

before her own. They’ll pick up
a book and find the one line
of solace you offer among all
the many distraught ones, about
a carpenter who built a dream

house for a prostitute he loved.
And they’ll read it back to you,
how he smoothed the purple
heart into impossible rooms,
a gift you hardly recall giving.

Poem copyright 2023 by Mervyn Taylor. All rights reserved.

See more poems from Mervyn Taylor on The Fight & The Fiddle: “The Pause,” “The Blind Storyteller,” and  “Evening.” 

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Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt