Poetry

French Toast

It is on Sunday And mostly late in the day Scent buttery sweet A ride in the car and the roof all the way down Light blue eyes and sky What lasts forever? All of this turns to rubble After time weathers Charred and burned on stove with baby boy on her hip Smoke a… Continue reading French Toast

Poetry

In Memory

It's not my favorite thing to do I did, my visit to you The place It's silent and cold restful, perhaps Here, I wish you My wish, never comes true The graves they are decorated with flags and flowers In Memory, I suppose Lights, the solar kind some are hung and strung, for celebrating In… Continue reading In Memory