Tracie Vaughn Zimmer
The Poems I Like Best
The poems I like best
wear classic black
with vintage accessories
and smell like a new book,
the spine just cracked.
They’re the chitchat overheard on a city bus
or nonsense
volleyed between toddlers
on swings at the park.
My favorite poems
squeeze your hand
on a crowded street and say:
Look.
The poems I like best
wear blue jeans
and smell
like the tack room of a barn:
worn leather and horse.
They’re the varied verses
of a mockingbird’s song
or syllables traded between brothers
scratching scruffy chins
over the dark mysteries of an engine.
My favorite poems
hold a wooden spoon of words
and whisper:
Taste.
The poems I like best
wear classic black
with vintage accessories
and smell like a new book,
the spine just cracked.
They’re the chitchat overheard on a city bus
or nonsense
volleyed between toddlers
on swings at the park.
My favorite poems
squeeze your hand
on a crowded street and say:
Look.
The poems I like best
wear blue jeans
and smell
like the tack room of a barn:
worn leather and horse.
They’re the varied verses
of a mockingbird’s song
or syllables traded between brothers
scratching scruffy chins
over the dark mysteries of an engine.
My favorite poems
hold a wooden spoon of words
and whisper:
Taste.