Wednesday
I'll talk a bit more about the quite accomplished poet Mary Reufle's first collection of prose, The Most of It, in the coming days. For now, I'll let this piece speak for itself, as Wednesday's Flash Therapy. In the meantime, purchase this collection. Like. Now.
ON TWILIGHT
I read the poem of a student and in the poem God
wandered through a room picking up random ob-
jects -- a pear, a vase, a shoe -- and in bewilderment
said, "I made this?". Apparently God had forgotten
making anything at all. I awarded this poem a prize,
because I was a judge of such matters. I was not
really awarding the student, I was awarding God;
I knew someday the student would pick up his old
poem and say in bewilderment, "I made this?", and
at that moment his whole world would be lost in the
twilight, and when you are finally lost in the twi-
light, you cannot judge anything.
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