Unformatted text preview: As you sit across from her, it is all a kind Of essential music. I also remember my father Alone at the dining-room table, the ink bottle safe In a bowl, his orange-red fountain pen in his big Hand. The hand moved slowly back and forth And the floor below was white with sheets of paper Each carrying a rejected phrase or two As he struggled all morning to finish just one sentence — Like a smith hammering thick and glowing iron, Like Jacob wrestling with the wonderful angel....
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- Spring '08
- Pen, Quill, orange-red fountain pen