Tuesday, February 15, 2011


How she cries
after the last voice is gone,
her breath in every

“Snow” added to Poems, Slightly Used.

2.15.2011 #2
2.15.2011 #1 (drawing)


Andreas said...

There are many rooms, many many breaths, to go through before the crying stops.

After the voices are gone sometimes their silence hurts us so; sometimes it's their words that hurt.

Beautiful, William, and sad - like laying down in a vast silence, to sleep, to wake up.

William Michaelian said...

Andreas, I appreciate your lovely interpretation and response. Thank you.

NIKKI said...

I love the title of this piece!
Thanks for your words of encouragement:)

Anthony Duce said...

Enjoyed…. Especially thinking of melting snow. Sad.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Nikki. I’m really enjoying your work.

Thanks, Anthony. Interesting, because initially I was thinking in terms of its arrival. Meaning accumulates like snow.

erin said...

life and death
and time, a fool

i find when i read your poems i read as though these few words are a series of pebbles i hold in my hand, trying to determine their weight, their being. while i don't always know, it is an enjoyable experience.


William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Erin. And it should be. At least I think so, and I like when it is.

Words as pebbles
pebbles as poems

a hand as big
as the land