Morning Harp

No one today calls out to the diseases
Not like Vainamoinen
Who made the birches listen



Wrought from iron
four sided word—

one word
how else
to tell it?


My roots give off a sound
That’s not like anything else
Blind, I still close my eyes
Just to hear


I used to have an iron crow
It stood in the garden
One day a real crow
Rubbed her feathers on it

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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