Friday, June 6, 2008

Poem

(From: Beyond the Reach of Shadow)

At Six

I overheard the neighbored reprimand my Dad,
“Those kids playing there
will ruin your fine lawn,” he said.
I watched my dad’s laugh resolve misplaced concern
“Bill, we’re not growing
grass, we’re raising girls.”
I didn’t hear what followed only knew that I stood taller
Us there, in the shadow of
my Dad’s big oak tree
my bare feet stained comfort
me, at six

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