Suspicious Finding
by Mark Danowsky
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No one else was around
when I found the poem
in the middle of the sidewalk
on Wayne Avenue
two blocks from Chelten
as if it were meant
for me alone.
This seems so significant
until I remember
all the “notes” I’ve ever written
to myself, like the hand-scrawled
Bring her home below the typeset
poem, the author’s name & the date
of the poem’s inception—precisely
thirteen months ago to the day.
All those words now foreign
almost coded
begs consideration of masks
of who we want to be
to ourselves.
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