What You Find in the Mud

gray0328

What You Find in the Mud

 

Poetry is what you find in the mud 

in the corner, overhear on the bus,  

a woman scratching her ankle, her  

breath heaving from walking uphill.  

 

It lives in the glint of a knife, gleaming  

against the skin of a pear, how it  

trembles before being peeled, the  

peel curling toward the hand’s heat.  

 

There’s a man shouting at pigeons,  

his face red with all the rage of  

a life misunderstood. He stops when  

he sees me, eyes wide like forgiveness.  

 

Poetry is the flutter of an eyelid, the  

brittle gasp of winter breath through  

a wool scarf, the way shadows throb  

against a lit window—aching to be known.

  • Author: gray0328 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 6th, 2024 05:10
  • Comment from author about the poem: My highschool Prom
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 20
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Comments +

Comments1

  • Cheeky Missy

    Perhaps, yet I think it is more visible in the hands of sweet motions, like my father's crafting espressos or my mother's teaching my younger siblings, like the baby fingers picking flowers for mama, and the like. Excellently rendered with lovely details and a subtly haunting poignancy. Thank you for sharing.

    • gray0328

      Thanks for sharing your feedback , I appreciate your kind words



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