wind road
the September road starts at my porch doorskips across
hops down the steps
it walks three feet up in the west wind
already singing in the maples
trees of sugar, fire and goofy noses
ignores the intersection and the streetlights
humming to itself
as it climbs higher into the pale sun
hiccoughs over the tall fence of the football field
almost visible
like a dogread scent
that open porch door breathes at me
I watch the wind
I hear the sun and the road away
sip my French press coffee, a tiny indulgence
September of cool breezes and new beginnings
you month of secondary spring
this once I cannot hoppity skip with you
that perpetuum mobile of dishwashers
and laundromats
and needy pets
and bills
and
but
your road starts inside my porch door
makes me smile with faith
despite
Poetry by Katarina Wikholm
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Written on 2016-09-25 at 15:52
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Jamsbo Rockda |
Lawrence Beck |
Kathy Lockhart |
|
Katarina Wikholm |