Books and Lives
You sniff around in tattered books and lives
and think you sense a poet’s blood and sweat,
but if you want a taste go ask the wives.
You sniff around in tattered books and lives,
but they’re the ones who cut themselves on knives
mistaken for soft tongues of sweet regret.
You sniff around in tattered books and lives
and think you sense a poet’s blood and sweat.
—Tim Hawkins, Rockford, MI
Tim Hawkins has lived and traveled widely, working as a journalist, technical writer, and teacher in international schools. He currently lives in his hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan, a short ferry trip across Lake Michigan from Milwaukee, where he visits when he can. His writing has appeared most recently in The Flea, Lucid Rhythms, The Pedestal Magazine, Shot Glass Journal and Underground Voices, and is forthcoming in Blueline, Iron Horse Literary Review, The Midwest Quarterly, and 13 Miles from Cleveland.
In the case of triolets I have found, like most poets I suppose, that the form naturally has a strong focusing effect on my writing, eliminating some of the narrative excesses that tend to plague my free verse.