salinas; soledad.
three miles down a dirt road.
with my car and my books
and not a friend in the world.
and wonder up at the gabilans.
how many miles to oregon's
border? brown grass hills
i used to hate as a child
wishing they were green
now i envy. golden fields
like a movie stars hair
promising good things.
like the golden pages of
an antique novel whose
salinas dirt lives in the
parchment, and bark
in the book cover. and oily
fingers throughout, and
someone saying, of course,
these people really lived.
2 comments:
thoughtful and interesting to read. i had to read it a second time. good work.
How does your poetry get better and better? You need to be published.
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