Monthly Archives: June 2017

Speak

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I am

what I meant to say,

what I said

instead,

and all the words

in between.

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St Jude Church (micropoetry 27)

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Today, yellow fever ghosts

step on marble floor tile,

keep St. Jude company

with stories about New

Orleans, epidemics, their last

home in here.

 

The Accident (Micropoetry 26)

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I watched as paramedics tried

to pump life back into your father’s

chest, but the car,

the blanket gently draped over him,

happened too fast.

Neighbors and their curious

legs to the scene told me

he was a good man

and I wish I got to know him better before.

Upstairs Lounge (micropoetry 24)

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I stepped inside the Upstairs

Lounge, where the walls are stained

with smoke thirty years later,

and the dead abandon their status

to tell their story.

 

“The smoke,

all the smoke,” was all they could gather

before trauma silenced them.