reading poetry

for Nan

I rise up from my Sunday recline
long enough to select a proper bookmark

for surely this story deserves better
than a torn and tattered scrap
from the used bookstore, used

deserves, perhaps, a bookmark
made by an artist friend
from cut paper instead —
attended, intricate, precious

intended for just this…
this intricate story cut
from words and time
from memory and nerve

cut from the heart