The Tookany Review   Vol. III Summer 2007   
  

In this issue
 

Linda Barrett

E Twan Crawford

Ruth Deming

Jan Goldman

Gail B. Hicks

Jennifer Hubbard

Nehru Nelson

Edited by Deborah Fries

For more information about
 writing workshops offered by
the Cheltenham Township Adult School, contact:

Cheltenham Township Adult School
1414 Panther Road
Wyncote, PA 19095
Phone: 215-887-1720

 


 

E. Twan Crawford

two poems
 

 

         Vanishing Point

       You pulled out a think white cigarette, told me
           to light it and like a trained seal, I did.  Expected
           a reward, got nothing.  Except the reasons why
           you were leaving and what his name was, where
           he lived in New York and how long you had been
           seeing him.   I was silent, my life for the last six years
           ending.  I had no idea what to say or do.  You looked
           at me with impatience, asking Well, do you have anything
           to say? 
I started to speak but my voice failed me.

           You dropped your smoke then crushed it under
           your heel.  You rolled your marble green eyes and came
           to me, the slow breeze brought your redolence to my
           nose, I can still smell your scent.  You kissed me and
           without feeling said I'm sorry.  As you moved away
           a word fell loose from my clogged throat.  Ring?
          
And then a few more, strung together:  Give me
           the engagement ring. 
Your face became an ugly
           gash as you struggled to remove the ring; once it was off,
           you threw it at my chest, it bounced off and hit
          the ground.  There is stayed until you were almost gone
           from sight.  I bent to one knee, picked up the ring
           in a fistful of gravel.  I blew off the dirt.  I knelt for
           what seemed like hours looking at it as if it would
           speak.  I stood up and placed the ring in a zipper pocket
           of my black leather jacket.  It stayed there for almost
           a year before I could take it out.  Now it's in a jewelry
           box on my dresser.  Buried in the bottom drawer.
           I come across it while searching for a tie clip or some
           other ridiculous thing I would never have worn then and
           I think of you, and the operatic love we once shared
           and the fleeting moments I thought would never end.

          
      
  
    more from E. Twan Crawford

 

 

E. Twan S. Crawford is a photographer and musician living in Glenside. Fulltime, he is an IT director for a local advertising firm.  He is exploring poetry and writing as other means of creative self expression.