Only elemental seeming this moment,
I hide my ground-root person at work
talking to a coworker, realize it, ashamed
of fear drove it. Back at my desk, from your
office a message—a flare of your being
in daylight: Get potatoes and onions
on way home. Grinning, we stir fry
them full-toot steaming after work’s
grimaces. Human shouts and car bleats
jump roof onto our small back porch, air
not sea-breeze fresh, more bat-breath
strange. Food tasty. Then walk a quieted
sidewalk with you knows me, streetlight on
pumpkin-orange dress hints your shape.
Above, your face, even gentler voice.
George Shelton
.
beautiful poem
Comment by Barbara Allen on 5 April, 2023 at 11:55 pmHuman condition: a ground root person endures bat-breath strangeness, enjoys potatoes and pumpkin-orange dress hints. Wise person.
Comment by See Sigh on 9 June, 2023 at 2:43 pmAmazing
Comment by Palmer Whithed on 30 August, 2024 at 1:52 am