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(Poem by Wendy Howe ) she sits on the grass watching her shadow drape the lattice work of a pergola. Her own creativity can not fill the blank moments of day or evening. A week passes slowly and slips between her hands like a drooping hemline. Its extra length becomes memory as time hangs and haunts her skin with the ache of forgotten things. The Persian cat needs his fur brushed, roses lack grooming, and the dampness around her ankles begs for warmth. She craves the Autumn sun and the heat of glazed chestnuts branding her tongue with sweet satisfaction -- enough to quell this longing for new words and a lover who left the shutters unlatched revealing sky and a man falling away with the early mist and pale leaves of morning. To know more about this poem, about Wendy Howe All Images & Poems (En) |
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