Monday, June 21, 2010


(Grandpa's Garden)
high in this tree
i'm sitting pretty
looking down on
gardens he grew
full of weeds and wildflowers
nodding in the afternoon sun
the wind shakes my
branches and i'm humming
something old and dusty
into the leaves
and he leaves

midwestern afternoons full of
ice or tornadoes
landing here like clockwork
but today is
green and hushed
in a rush of beauty and smoke
i was wrong and i'm
turning, turning, falling
landing like dove feathers
or autumn leaves
and he leaves

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