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buck1 | Poem

 
 
ASILENT SONNET


Strange.It was.
Summer's beriberidraught
with grapevines fried
in skilletsof an Agust day.
Thorns werebaby alligator teeth,
chomping strawof might have been.
Dirt stayedcreases in a skirt.
Branches werea sewing kit;
we were groupsof humble Adam's
stitching nervousclothes to wear.
The lot nextdoor--a homestead
for these earlydreams.
The big treelounging on its side:
pirate pilotsat its helm.
Green Peacewasn't politics,
but escalatorsto the clouds
and grass untouchedby human plows.
The earth turnedtoast and all at once
the intangiblemaze of winter struck.
Brown wentwhite. Hot suns withdrew.
We grew upfaster than we planned.
The tree houseleaves were
curtains frozento the wood.
Trapdoors shutto fairy nowhere:
school pincheda nerve again.
Snowfall wasa silent sonnet
sweeping atticswith its hand.
Their branchessawed to set it straight.
There are,you know, the stems of roses
under thosedeceiving thorns.
You're waytoo old
to stand sofar away from life.
If destiny'san ambulance,
I'm pressingsquarely on its horn.
 
- JanetI. Buck
 
toJanet     toMoongate
 

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