Outskirts

Walk to town
Old shoes, a neighbor
Calls from her porch

My ministers, the privacies
Autumn leaves on the wind

Empty lot—
An overturned wheelbarrow
Is covered in lichen

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto