Poems from donneejohnson
There is only this
The echo of your guitar
The stirring of leaves
Is that truly me? Me being displayed,
On that mirror, in that picture, here see,
My distorted face, nose too big, breasts too small.
18 and...
A gift card was given to me,
It was alive not with spending power but with literature,
The concept was familiar but I would have to spend...
To think that I have kept this for so long
A picture of us on the Carlisle, of mother
And grand-ma, her dark curly hair
Her youthful face,...
It’s past midnight, and at that, past my bed time.
I watch as dad helps my mother load the boxes,
Into her royal blue Volkswagen.
It’s...