Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 6,000,000 visitors since 2014 and over 9,000 archived posts.
Arlene Weiner: November
Not because I’m beautiful, but because
I was the only one out this morning,
rooting out standing weeds,
raking red and yellow leaves,
“putting the garden to bed,”
the old man rubbed his raspy cheek
against mine, kissed my fingertips.
.
He is no curly-haired boy
who drops to one knee to ask me to dance.
He tears off summer’s dress,
exposes trunk and limb, threatens
worse coming. Yet he brings gifts:
red birds among the berries, clear nights,
Orion’s diamond stars, ermine streets.
Copyright 2019 Arlene Weiner
Discover more from Vox Populi
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
A comment on this poem & all the others I read here – I enjoyed them. So thoughtful and meaningful – old connections revisited.
LikeLike
Thanks, Brenda!
>
LikeLike
But you are beautiful–re line 1. Saw you and Bob walking, I in my car. Thank goodness you found words for wordless.
LikeLiked by 1 person