Bio Note: In the company of my wife and writing companion Debbie, I have lived, gardened and raised five children on our plot of land in rural southwest Ohio. I pick bluegrass music with my neighbors and run and walk the trails on our farm and nearby woods and fields. I am relatively new member in the world of poets and poetry – a world I have found incredibly hospitable and healing in these last few years. Most recently I’ve had poems appear in Rattle and upcoming in Minyan and Gyroscope Review.
Every Day in America Prompts its Own Kind of Poem
Every day, the muse proposes new material for poems. Friday, the first strawberries of the season were as ripe as lips fit for a perfect kiss. Saturday, storms charged the cat with static, his hair on end, his mewls prickly as his crawling skin. Sunday the sun rose right over the old oak–like Stonehenge, it foretold a turning. Monday, so cold for May, I wore my wool cap. Tuesday, many children shot and killed. In America, every day is a Tuesday.
©2022 Dick Westheimer
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