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Feathers (#322)

A storm of yesterday
Eyes closed because it is dark
Feeling safest in the corners

Outside
Feathers rip the sky
Leftover wishes
That turned into pain

The screaming is internal

Sunlight?
Where’s the sunlight?
When will dawn come
And the day forgive?

Eyes still closed

The feathers pound on the windows
Yesterday’s rain

Probably tomorrow’s rain

The corners aren’t safe anymore

Open eyes
Open windows

Let storm in

Feathers on skin

The screaming is internal

 
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Posted by on February 7, 2018 in new poetry

 

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#214

A poem I did not want to write

She just went out for milk,
Quick and simple
Five minutes to the corner AM-PM
But when she returned
    the apartment was empty

Her daughter,
Not a little child but a 24 year old,
Was missing—
    a 24 year old
    whose mind had recently betrayed her
    shaking loose
    important parts

As a poet
I am forced to imagine
The mother’s panic
The desperate searching of the bedroom
The bathroom
Pulling back the shower curtain
Back to the bedroom
Under the bed
Then the hallway
All the while calling out her name
“Sara, Sare-bear, Sweetie”
Younger with every call

And the mother flashing back
To when she was younger
And lost her daughter
Three years old then
When Sara wandered away
In the furniture store

But Sara is 24 now
Strong and mobile
Confident and independent
With a mind fractured

And mother hears
The squealing of brakes
Suddenly
From the nearby freeway
And sees in her mind
The bridge overpass
Which is a three minute walk away

She just went out for milk
Quick and simple
Five minutes to the corner AM-PM

 
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Posted by on December 5, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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