Memorial Day
I face solar panels into the sun.
The smell of burnt grass comforts.
You refuse Earl Grey, then lunch.
When we’re alone I feel edges.
The smell of burnt grass comforts.
You listen to Pema Chödrön.
When we’re alone I feel edges.
Your feet go hard on the maple.
You listen to Pema Chödrön.
The over-exposed sky allows jets.
Your feet go hard on the maple.
Birds flock the feeder after I fill it.
Sunflower seeds scatter the ground.
You refuse Earl Grey, then lunch.
Pema discusses the seeds of doubt.
I face solar panels into the sun.
Is this your poem? It’s very good!
hi emma, this is kirby wright, thank you so much for your generous comment.
i have some other work in the uk now, such as un. of chester’s FLASH Magazine and also Sein und Werden Magazine out of Manchester.
thanks again!