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She, for Carolyn Grace


When she sits at the kitchen table
while she talks her hands seem to balance
in the air faithful at the level of
her words; she is careful what she says.
The morning sun through the window strikes
her skin, shows how the faint lines in her
palms will come to deepen like corduroy
cloth to fit the weather of her age.
Still a young women, she has to work
the grave yard shift, sleeps what is left,
then wakes to get the kids to school.
It must be morning when she dreams.
Peering into her coffee’s surface
she looks back from it’s depths, her hands
caught holding an implement, a fossil of
her life: Alabama born, feelings
huddled north, these steel cities this cold month,
her dark soul twisting into fingers
whose motion at this brown angle
is the slow fall flight of leaves through time.
And she rises with the gesture, and
the oil in her hands is necessity’s
sweat: each hand on the tabletop
a work cloth rubbing the other fine
wooden one.

Christopher Gilbert

These steel cities, this cold month
abandoned and left to rust
and the men and women
who gave them life and vitality
cast aside like the slag
and scale from the steel
they so proudly made.

Have a great weekend family
Peace,
Tenthltr2u

 

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About tenthltr2u (1039 Articles)
A child of the 60's I often feel out of place in the world as it exist today. Too much excess, too much materialism, too few people who genuinely care or give a damn. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. Antoine de Saint-Exupery

2 Comments on She, for Carolyn Grace

  1. Intriguing.  Visually stimulation.  Very reminiscent of the Harlem masters who came before him.  Peace.

    Like

  2. Absolultely lovely!  Hi, Ten-darling!  I am on schoo vacation and I can have the pleasure of catching up!  (grin)

    Like

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