Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Jess and the Pink Moon




My grand mother's paint-by-number sits upon a walnut shelf 
Somehow I still hear the call & pull from somewhere deep down South 
earth crochet lies idle in a vintage chair weaved plaid 
these walls lean in to tell me such tall tales of what I had 

feathers from Algiers 
pork belly home 
sweet potatot swing-sets 
love growing old 
sureness by the fire
bloody marys at noon 
rain on Sunday 
April Pink Moon 

Solitary I slumber in this ancient French brass bed 
flannel for my pillow — grey dog by my head 
memories flicker bright & then they flicker dim 
of prairie fields in springtime 
and 
wild fates tempest whim 

feathers from Algiers 
pork belly home 
sweet potatot swing-sets 
love growing old 
sureness by the fire 
bloody marys at noon 
rain on Sunday 
April Pink Moon 




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