If You Can’t Say Anything Nice
Nancy White
If my left hand wrote this
it would taste better would know
quiet the listener It failed public
speaking the eye contact and gesture
holds the nail (silence) straight
while the right hand hides
behind the hammer It knows
you better than the right ever can
was born knowing The left-hand
word cuts during freshet
muscled flanks pushing
popple over boulders till they tangle
and jam The pool fills with mute
With my left I love better and not just
you but anyone It weighs equal:
rust kettle mayfly me
Nancy White’s work appears in journals such as FIELD, Ploughshares, and New Letters. Her three poetry collections are Sun, Moon, Salt (winner of the Washington Prize), Detour, and Ask Again Later. She teaches at SUNY Adirondack and serves as president of The Word Works in Washington, D.C.


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