Unlearning

I tried to draw this week.

My hand didn't know what it was doing.

The pencil shook like someone else

was holding it, someone younger

who never won anything,

who never felt the clarity

of a pencil doing exactly

what it meant to do.

Eight years old I drew horses

that looked like horses.

Now I can't draw a hand.

Now a line is just a line,

just failure that won't erase.

The paper is still there.

I haven't thrown it away.