I wanted a place to put poems, so I am starting this blog. I’d love to hear comments, or your own poetic thoughts.
Grandmother Sits
Inside her wrinkled face
behind cataract eyes
she holds
a purple purse
pictures of children
her hair before it was blue.
A waltz with a man
she met once
and her husband
of course.
A full diamond
moon and a
song she
never wrote down.
A library of windows
to places she’d been
people she knew
and inside
the purple purse
a name
no one else knows.
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