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The Playwrights Forum > The Art & Craft of Writing > Poet's Corner : Critique my Poem > Her Boots

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 Posted: Thu Mar 6th, 2008 12:44 am
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Airtop
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Joined: Sun Mar 2nd, 2008
Location: Chicago, Illinois USA
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her boots
by
Aaron Holland


I was on my way to you when I left the house.

She had only walked by a few seconds before.
As we shared the street


I noticed the hem of her skirt.


Trilled and slurred- the color muted. Like her hair.

    Grey. as it has been for a while.-pulled back



by a sun-ripened ribbon. It matched her lips.


The wrinkles that followed led me to discover her eyes.


She looked at me

Six feet in Timbs. Unshaven in full goose down. My Hair


Sticking up out of my headband like the caps to a thousand
Junglefruits.


My eyes, dark and low from the chief.


as she turned her gaze forward


Her blouse made itself known. Plants and animal life.


She wore her mother hood around with her. and has.and will.


The neck line seamed to hang onto the flesh; wrenched onto

the body

it must protect. As the fabric in the seams

folded and again

I saw her lips again. The straight line of expressionlessness


had now changed


into an ā€œnā€ shape. The curve of which darted my eyes to the

seams

in her stockings

which danced too

as she began to run.


I felt the heat of Catharsis burn the back of my neck and ooze

down my spine

as she stuck her head out of the corner store she ducked into.


To watch me pass. To make sure I passed.

I wondered at that moment, where she got her boots.

Last edited on Thu Mar 6th, 2008 11:20 pm by Airtop

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