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Open Poetry #40
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Washed.
| Open Poetry #40 |
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Washed. |
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Allysa 
since 1999-11-09
Posts 1952In an upside-down garden 
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Fingers split to take it in, through the window of a minivan, the brother holds, with shaking hands, a camera that he never raised And she, she asked me, what's it like? I see it when I close my eyes, and try to place myself in pictures, with water over me My toes have touched, each city street with murk and dirt, I've rinsed my feet Careful never to avoid Any of the stains This city's seeping through my hands. |
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| © Copyright 2007 Allysa - All Rights Reserved | |||
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
And she's going as ignored as your remarkable poem... Yanno? I am just getting to where I can go "out there". I feel like I went to sleep and woke up in another country...  Thanks lovie, I do not feel so all alone when I read you. |
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suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
I understand never raising that camera... I never raised mine either... When images burn on your brain, you don't need pictures to remember... and taking them of the destruction and decay seems almost a desecration. Excellent!!!! |
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