Yesterday, with all these poems in my head:
Forgive them Father, because they do not know what they have done
Forgive them, because they do not know what they are doing
Forgive them, because they do not know what they will be doing
Father
I was writing them but I didn’t have a pen
when the smell of the train tracks caught me
magnetic attraction color of traveled dream
still writing
(and I cried, I was so ashamed I fought till the end
on the bus in the back seats some young men with a bottle of wine, on the
cell phones they spoke the pride of their young lives, greeted me with
respect
I couldn’t cry but I did)
there were tears in my eyes before falling asleep
spy of my deepest pain
I woke up in the middle of the night, got up and ate a tangerine,
as I mentally said tangerine it all turned into acidic tinges
there were many people in the dark hall violet shades one was ugly _laughing
today, up, go- run around, the registers, bills, shopping, mail
I had to wait _an eternity, just stay here & wait, finally the phone rang
still wanted to postpone - interrupted with greetings, give me one more sec
don’t tell me, yet
___ She died peacefully, she was with us last night at supper, this morning
in her bed ___
Rest in peace, with a cut in the right side of my head,
to Suor Maria Pozzi,
Anny Ballardini
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
If you go with rivers, not roads, the trip
takes longer and you weave and see a lot more.
(from Houses)
Richard Hugo
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