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poem for pastors

le cuento con
hijas del tiempo
todos se callan a lo largo del potomac
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocĂ­o
hay cualquiera allĂ­
no permanezca no más
nunca en toda mi vida
al revés, dé vuelta al revés
caĂ­do tan
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
estaba parado
en su tienda guardada
la mujer faltĂł mucho, cĂłmo usted llama a mĂ­, llamada a mĂ­

 



Poetry news via Google, MSN, and Yahoo!

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  • Remembering Mahmudul Haque (1941-2008) - The Daily Star
  • LAist Interview: David Berman, Silver Jews - Laist.com
  • Master class (The News-Times)
  • This Is Not Art - ABC Online
  • Teen readers wanted for reading and discussion group (Sun Newspapers)
  • Online project part of wrapping up of position for Liz Zetlin - Owen Sound Sun Times
  • East Bay Literary Examiner - Examiner.com
 

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