Blackberry branches
in my grandmother’s garden
lick my four-year old feet.
Her voice is colored like tiger lilies
and rises beyond the fence
into the forest and the sky,
where she whirls the clouds
like pancake batter.
published: Big Pulp, March 2008
Friday, December 7, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment