Ah Yes, I Know Margaret Atwood

by Poema Escritor

Ah yes, I know Margaret Atwood,

I can drop her name in conversations

I can quote her books, or are those just short stories,

I’m not so sure.

Who introduced us? He did.

That gray-bearded gentleman who sits in front of

me. He’s the guy who hates the red pen.

The reddest pen there is. But this is not

about him. It’s about Margie.

Yes Margie. That’s what I call her.

I don’t know if I can, she never

really said. But I call her Margie

anyway. I think I met her under a

hot summer’s day. Something like

lemonades, yes, cold, sweaty lemonades,

contemporary literature, essays, and

reading assignments. Nope, she was not

my prof. Neither was she a visiting

lecturer. The sky was blue. It never

gets blue in Ohio, all the time. So,

I remembered her name when we

met. She extended her left hand. Oh,

wait, is it the right hand you use to

shake hands? I can never tell. I

just smile and extended the opposite hand.

Sometimes, I look at my hand when I

shake people’s hand. How different our

skin tones are. But their fingers and my

fingers both write the same words.

Only, Margaret, err, Margie,

write hers in better order. And mine?

My stories are never any more linear

than this one. But I did meet Margie once.

Once. Through the byline of her book.

Now if only I can meet her in person.

Day 10 Napowrimo

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