Once I held Jewel Kilcher in my palms.
I'd seen her around and heard her yodels,
her hands are small or so she says
mine are big and often gripping wrench's
and coffee mugs and my penis.
It surprises me to still have a library card
guess librarians don't inspect under black light.
Alaska's blizzards then Hollywood's swelter
she traded her mittens for sunscreen,
she didn't see those bed sheets in daylight
or she wouldn't have laid her guitar down
in those motel rooms she wrote poetry in.
The two dates I've had in twelve years
didn't lead to a motel bed or second dates,
met a Trinidadian librarian - she's my friend
she told me to check out Jewel's book
it's the only poet's print I've fondled;
at least dating site folks like my writing.

Note: Holding Jewel Kilcher in my palms is a metaphor for reading her book of poetry "a night without armor".

Hands

Good one.

Nice poem .