I Have a Friend Who's Perfect

i have a friend who says she can't write poetry who says everything she pens is not worth keeping... she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, her eyes are a mix of snow globes and black holes, not even giving light a second chance to look away. her hands are so soft they grip the pen like a feather and as she quills her name at the top of the page ink spills from her veins as she writes every letter. and i sit there, just watching. i shiver every time i see her pen quiver; and i know music is being born. she throws away papers unrefined; pages strewn 'round the room. on them what she thinks are just throw-away lines, words falling to their dusty tomb. i pick each one up one at a time pulling them from the cracks in the floor and each one ends up a favorite of mine stuffed away in a dusty drawer. i have a friend who said she cant write... one day i'll tell her, it shouldn't surprise her that as soon as she picks up her pen her words already have a home. that as soon as she writes her name it's already a perfect poem.