March 22, 2019

Swing-bed by David Gross

Blind, widowed for nine years, strokes had ravaged her
body. Sitting beside her, holding her hand, I asked how
her day had been. She turned her milky eyes toward me
and softly spoke, I saw your dad walk by the window
today... he looked so handsome... I waved... but I don't
think he saw me.

       black with coal-dust
       boys with holes in their shoes
       walk rails home







David Gross lives with his wife on a small farm in southern Illinois near the Shawnee National Forest, where they hike and bird as often as possible. His most recent collection is Little Egypt (Flutter Press, 2017). He has recent poems in Acorn, Common Ground Review, Front Porch Review, and Otata.

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