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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4678 Registered: 11-1998 |
Poem of the Week Grass Dawn Pendergast She was kneeling, her small white feet tucked tenderly 'neath her thighs. Her hands, summer-blasted, grabbed up the ground, green blades poking 'tween those crazy fingers. Then she lay it down again slow slowly, in soft green heaps -- like a fragile corpse -- to rest. I watched her on a nearby bench, through a swirl of smoke. Smiling at my own crazy fingers, clutching my own grass. |
