Sassi Riar is taking Prof. Pollack’s Intermediate Poetry 104 class.
Drawing a Line
He had to crouch to sniff white.
It took a toll on his posture,
As if pulling him to the ground
Where he went after.
His fingers, once colorful,
Now pale from powder,
Forgot all the notes they had played.
Silence was louder.
He picked at the strings to make tunes,
Drew lines that muffled laughter
On the back of the onyx wood
That used to make him prouder.