At Home
How at-home I am
within the sound
of Elena's poem-voice,
even when she speaks
of realities I've never
seen, heard, felt, known:
her Bible-childhood,
the landscape of rural
western Illinois,
the names of birds
and beasts and flowers
not found within
seven solar-systems
of my old stomping grounds
in working-class Boston.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
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Written on 2022-04-26 at 09:41
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Lawrence Beck |
Texts |
by Uncle Meridian Latest texts[naming the need][crossing] [older] [1990] [guidance] |
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