Arthur P. Carter
          April 3, 1915 – October 8, 2004


in my childhood
his words clamored up bookshelves
wore covers of purple, orange silky matte
smelled like dough
giggled in Seussian rhyme
at the dictionary
who lectured from
a tall wood stand

I grew out of asking questions
his flood of words
insignificant next to boys playing on TV
Beatles harmonizing in tinny stereo
          beyond me: his urge to reveal
          prepare, create wonder

when I discovered words
          our similarities
          completed me
          as his mirror
he was crushed in
silence

with a flick of his eye
the ashes of my voice
were brushed
away