Words and Music

Poets in a circle read carefully, self-consciously,

one after another as the hot June wind

blows through windows

and green leaves just outside whisper

secrets we cannot know.

Words of love, gunshots and loss,

apples in copper tubs and little girls in pink,

a ring of guilt, a soldier dead so long

and long distance romance,

the stench of a feedlot. Words flutter and drift,

shimmer and disappear in late afternoon heat

 

while inextricably mixed

with voices, leaves, and wind,

a soundtrack

seventeen years in the making.

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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