In the tall green grass.A Poem by h d e rushinJust thinking. Dad's been bone sine 94. Is he but bones and Silhueta now? Has mistrust pulled tight around his skull, gnashing at truth with those Liberace teeth. Could it be, in the future, our selves, reborn to flesh like worsted woven weft threads: Schoolteacher, day laborer, quasi farmer who hated the lash. Line worker, slapping bumpers on LeBaron's. His hair standing tall on his head like field lilies. Not now. Too much grief for someone in a sear-sucker suit and gators. Too much pain for the poet in the durag holding his finger waves down like a tiger. The porch you and Janae sat on, a tree branch has blown clear through and you can look up and see the stars from the nap of the aluminum lawn chair you've sat on. And it is clear.
© 2025 h d e rushinFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
147 Views
2 Reviews Added on July 20, 2025 Last Updated on July 20, 2025 |

Flag Writing