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Naomi Brown Poem
eggshell-white lilies
bloom in opulent gardens
sown by optimists.
Copyright © Naomi Brown | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Naomi Brown Poem
When I was a little girl,
I thought the train was sentient
because it cried mournfully
whenever it came near my house.
Wonk! Wonk! Wonk! Wonk!
It bellowed out its melancholy
greeting each afternoon at two
and we conversed in the language
of loneliness.
How I wanted to crawl into
one of those rusty orange
boxes, curl up with the cargo,
most likely cattle on their way
to Amarillo for slaughter.
Knees tucked beneath chin,
arms interlocked around ankles,
rocking rhythmically.
A fetus safely ensconced in an iron womb.
But the train never stopped for me.
Like life and opportunity, it passed us by.
Like my father it was a cold machine,
wholly incapable of feeling.
Copyright © Naomi Brown | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Naomi Brown Poem
eyes
see
things.
ears
hear
things.
hearts
feel
things.
minds
know
things.
poets
breathe
life
into
these
things.
Copyright © Naomi Brown | Year Posted 2016
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