Page 31 - January 2021
P. 31

Fresh tea before breakfast




                                                  jck hnry




                               jck hnry and i am a writer based in the deserts of
                                         southern california and arizona












                     her tears fall, hard.                          i cannot grasp her pain

                     fresh rain on a southern sky.                  in my fingers, old and arthritic.


                                                                    i cannot bring myself

                     fat black tires crunch against gravel.         to stand.

                     a thick wind twists through                    failure to communicate

                     gnarled limbs and weeping branches.            is not mine alone.




                     it is July,                                    Sunday's are meant for dying.

                     and i can hear her through                     preachers freebase at the pulpit.

                     my window, although                            she slowly stands and puts her

                     she is many miles                              memories in a pocket,

                     from me,                                       and starts to walk away,


                     now.
                                                                    from it all.




















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        litterateur                            1                                          january 2021
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