11/09
by amy lipman
I was born without a chest
Wooden eyes and dirty specs
I flock to you
A lamb inside your coat
That you will carry home
Some nights I do try to rest
With my feet bound in a tree
Tried to climb and found that I
Would rather run incessantly
2 Comments:
Since we apparantly need to comment more (I agree), Amy, this poem is amazing. You know I love everything you write. You have voice, imagery, poignance. Love it, love it, love it.
-Stacy
the "wooden eyes" descriptor makes me cringe...in a good way.
S.a.S.
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