Native Tongue
My unattended journal - no marginal notes
or scribbled lines on handmade pages
designed for poets to discover romance or
Enlightenment; having found neither, I turn
blank pages between calloused fingers, wonder
what to write… Somewhere a native tongue
vanishes moment by moment - lips, blazing
crimson. Overhead branches stretch bare
such is this season - Indian summer; late autumn
Deborah Russell
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