|The signboard of poet Abigail Mott. Photo Toile La La.|
Undaunted by my photography, or the shuffling of passersby, or the panhandler hoping to divert our attention... Abigail Mott composed for us a custom-made poem, right there on the sidewalk - unaided by computer, dictionary, thesaurus, or anything - except her non-electric Underwood.
But it wasn't just her talent to spontaneously produce poetry (the words apparently transmitting
obstacle-free - head to fingers), it was the sight of her poetry-production that was also somehow significant.
|Abigail Mott composing a poem in Denver, CO. Photo Toile La La.|
She looked as if she should be painted - at this age and that moment in time, with her leg crossed and fingers tapping - and with people passing by and seeing her typing.
|The poem-typing hands of Abigail Mott. Photo Toile La La.|
Les Mots for Mott: Street Bard Angel Poet Pulling Thought from a Word Piano, Tap Your Fingers, Clack Your Keys Please for a Snapshot Paragraph.