Somewhere,
Change sings
In a mother’s pocket—
Scrap money.
Somewhere,
A pot boils
In a powerless house;
Cold water fills the tub.
Somewhere,
A train of power strips—
Secretly sourced—
Circuits more than office machines.
Somewhere,
Dust danders
On a storage space floor—
Items liened.
Somewhere,
A sleeping bag
Lines the contoured bed
Of a mid-sized pickup.
Somewhere,
A young man sleeps
On a friend’s creaky couch—
Away/Dreaming/Free.
3 comments:
Brent,
This might be my favorite poem of yours. The words are simple, but the images are extremely powerful. I think that in the 2nd stanza it might be better to not use water twice. Maybe instead of "water boils" you can say "a kettle boils" or something. This is a really moving piece. The title is awesome too. Remember when you only wrote prose?
Chris,
I took your advice and changed the repeat of water which I didn't even notice. Thanks for the kind words.
I had a strong emotional response to the poem. It was very "real" and not forced. I could "see" and experience the poem. How remarkable that a poem can create such empathy. Loved two lines most of all: "A mother's pocket" and "A sleeping bag." Both are so warm and womb-like, a place were we would retreat too when we have had our fill of life's pain. Great job here.
Post a Comment