Melinda Foshat

Poetry, Prose, Photography


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Her hips across the hours
Tribal- her dark glasses
As we walked in threes through Hell.

Nothing whole
Except a hand size full of food wasted.

Teeth sharpened.
Hawks improvising the sound of flight.

At this point-
Watches
And useless piles of shit.

How many people there were at this Nightmare,

When Dreams piled high with bottles
Have anywhere to go.

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – September 24, 2018

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1 Comment

Poet’s Lullaby

Lay down tainted one
In that garden you once sprung
When the world was ripe
Draped before your seedling sight
You dreamt beneath the shadows
Of the Begonia you so
Desperately clung to
When the world was sweet
And cradles made from thistle leaves
Rocked you fast asleep

© Copyright – All rights reserved – Melindafoshat.wordpress.com – June 19, 2013