My 1917 Royal
Whose love
passion
sadness
fears
have poured through their fingers
and onto these keys before me
With each clunking laborious stroke
rattling tap and rustling ribbon
ink was sealed onto the page
and couldn’t be deleted
or completely rubbed off
with the putty-pink tip of a pencil
While slowly typing
I’m mindful of more than my words
and glad that the space bar
is in disrepair
giving me pause
time to think
about awareness
impulsivity
intention
how the present
can’t erase the past
yet indelibly lasts
as a shadowy stain
seeping into the future
by Joan Kantor
Editor’s Note: Writing about writing is a tricky topic, fraught with history and vintage typewriters, and people and intention.
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