Poetry Pick

FIRST DECEMBER Elana Wolff

I'm standing in the empty space: place of the white piano – wearing boots and leather jacket – laughing at the camera.                         We'll live here when the furniture arrives. Outside snow has not yet whitened        the earth is dark as dreaming – I started writing – music at the Heinzman in the old house – pieces too demanding for me; I handed them to Frances and she mastered them with ease. She played those compositions so semantically, they told. I turned then to the privacy of poems.            If I didn't have to hide,            I wouldn't write. From YOU SPEAK TO ME IN TREES, by Elana Wolff             (Guernica Press 2006)

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