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The Writers Almanac

Table of Contents › Poetry ›

Writer’s Almanac

Meghan Harney

He first says the date,
and follows it with a saying or fact.
He rides with me every day,
if only for a few short minutes in the morning.

He moves on to the selection
for the day.

Stating the title, and author,
his voice making the biography
sound like the other piece of poetry
no one knew he was going to read.

The words of the poem, 
or song, or story,
eat up the road,
the words becoming a living thing
beside me in the car.

Some days they whisper,
others they make me laugh,
or cry, or any of the things
a friend can do.
Often we don’t agree
or don’t particularly like how the other is clothed,
but we are always happier when we part,
because we met.

His voice returns,
emerging from the words,
and I wonder,
Does he always sound this way?
His voice is the ocean
on a still day.
The surface is rippled by inflection,
but the depth remains.

I smile as he says his farewell,
“Be well,
do good work,
and keep in touch,”
and I drive away,
leaving a friend by the side of the road,
and look forward to tomorrow.