Note: I posted this back in October 2009, but since it's Good Friday today, it felt appropriate to re-post. This is from my poetry thesis, "Mementos of a Hostile City."
1
Being with people
makes me want to cry
and only a hostile city
causes numbering, leaves and
thoughts of you,
the weight and the weight of you
2
Through the metal gates,
garbage bags are shadows
bones, used
tissues and the last crumbs
I think about how
She feels alone
And the anxiety of being caught,
sitting on a bench,
on the bathroom floor
Swallowed, spit out, un-swallowed
again and how you
stand outside the door
3
The city forces again
a numbering of snubs,
a leaving behind
the shame of being unable to
stop waiting
Written: (circa) April 9, 2004
About Me
- Sherry
- When I was 14, I wrote my first poem, a treacly one about friendship. In high school, I began writing poems after reading Jewel's "A Night in Armor," a book that allowed me to fall in love with free verse. Once I entered college, A.R. Ammons's "Glare," an opus using beautiful, winding language, completely changed the way I thought about poetry. And I've played with words ever since.
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