Weary eyes that blink

williamson-p06-07-150Alice diary pagepagefromAliceWilliamson’sdiary

 

Here is a poem I wrote fourteen years ago:

Stray page found in the bottom of the trunk

 

Brittle yellow paper

rattles in my hand.

Song about the roadway

tarnished by the land

where heat meets sand;

I cannot find the shaper.

 

Writing’s like a window

roiling with dull sheen.

Watching at the threshold,

child I might have been

bends her back to glean

footmarks from the shadow.

 

Woodworker and learner

scallop, shred and shrink

sawdust, resin, russet,

weary eyes that blink,

leading me to think

better of the sterner.

 

Stumbling on the shaper,

not the one I seek,

sharpens breath to shorter,

eyebrows rise to peak,

gulping as I speak

words from yellowed paper.

 

 

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/blink/”>Blink</a&gt;

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