“Nobody Gets to be a Poet”

3 Sep

“Nobody Gets to be A Poet”

At the mill town
toffee by a tossed hand in stained glass
coffee by the midst of mornings
these are your purse’s strings
covered by the overalls of oil
to come on time at once at peace teatime
on my bread delivery
they say it was the river killed you
we lie in a bed of blue roses
in music you felt something natural
it was in the way you arched your back, broken strength is being afraid
your spiritual own home
baked in bread
with the insects of girlhood
because of something you said or hid.

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