Frabjous Times

cinquain poetry

In the heart of the motherland

a torn bedsheet
this shape in the doorway —
at least the nights have grown warm in
our town
The verse came to mind because I'm doing some work for a woman who founded one of the homeless shelters in the county, and who told me a story about how one day she had witnessed one of their long time visitors die right there in her office. It came out as an emotional poem with the feelings suggested, not overt, which is always what I prefer.
Last modified: Sun May 15 19:55:58 EDT 2005
Inserted note
Previously published: Wed May 18 07:28:34 2005
Previously published: Sat May 7 13:05:47 2005