Written ages ago.
Falling from the dusk night,
as though it believed itself a feather,
is a Connecticut rain somehow
out of place, as much as I, in Cincinnati.
In my mother's garden,
roses in December
blossom with splendor,
and touch my brother's soul.
His son is home.
A couple, wise in years,
strolls by, their white dog
Casey, his name, is less
hesitant then they.
Nice evening, they say.
Nice evening they agree with my brother.
Lately, he's been too far away from Jimi.
Am I cold?
No.
Here, take my coat my second brother says.
No, thank you, I say.
The wind is bitter but he would
shiver not to see my rosy cheeks.
I put my own coat around my shoulders.
In my mother's garden,
roses are blooming in December.
Connecticut rain tickles my cheeks, nose and lips.
Somehow displaced, as am I, in Cincinnati.
Poetry by Rielle Vobi
Read 124 times
Written on 2008-08-16 at 06:47
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December Rose
December RoseFalling from the dusk night,
as though it believed itself a feather,
is a Connecticut rain somehow
out of place, as much as I, in Cincinnati.
In my mother's garden,
roses in December
blossom with splendor,
and touch my brother's soul.
His son is home.
A couple, wise in years,
strolls by, their white dog
Casey, his name, is less
hesitant then they.
Nice evening, they say.
Nice evening they agree with my brother.
Lately, he's been too far away from Jimi.
Am I cold?
No.
Here, take my coat my second brother says.
No, thank you, I say.
The wind is bitter but he would
shiver not to see my rosy cheeks.
I put my own coat around my shoulders.
In my mother's garden,
roses are blooming in December.
Connecticut rain tickles my cheeks, nose and lips.
Somehow displaced, as am I, in Cincinnati.
Poetry by Rielle Vobi
Read 124 times
Written on 2008-08-16 at 06:47
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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