Near Miss
By Fanny Howe
I almost met you
On a Saturday
In Gloucester.
The wind blew easterly.
There was a jar of mums
On a table near the window.
Their yellows were calling
To each other.
Place-names
Were put back
In the pencil drawer
Before I noticed your shadow.
About This Poem
“This is a poem composed by the words themselves, calling out their sounds to each other. Compared to them, listless human longing for an unknown friend amounts to nothing. I can say that the name Gloucester, so resonant in my mind, set off the poem in the first place.”
—Fanny Howe
This poem remind me of the "Missed Connections" section on Craig's list. Some are very funny to read. I've often wondered if they worked.
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