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: skuusisto

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

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Author: skuusisto

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