Category: Poetry

The Memory of Hope

My memory of time catches my eye around corners, forgotten in places where dust collects, where I found innocence. Was I ever bereft of compassion? Or is it guile, just kids on a gymnasium floor throwing a sun-sized red ball, aiming for black boxes and for the kill. Are we still so cruel? Hit hard

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I must weed my garden, overcome and ambushed,Using rough, aching hands Pulling at sticky green tendrils Braided and rooted into red clay. Fingers grasp at my apron strings, Where they claw and hang, just as insecure children Who sob and heave, stutter with tears and beg to stay homeUnwilling to let go. Wearily I enter

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Feast of Burden

No. I can’t make it down tonight. Through the door you Knock on my belligerence Testing my lock without a key Imploring you: “Please. Go down to greet our company.” Delicately each holds paper napkins Within which each hides Their thin whispers of doubt. “She’s better than expected.” Suddenly everyone earns expert degrees Doctorates of

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