Hanger Ons Poem by Francie Lynch
Hanger Ons
She is the shadow of her own shadow;
A hard green tomato on an October vine;
Like last year's silver tree tinsel;
The inescapable smell of a house housing cats;
A smoker's car;
An arthritic leaf, twisting in early December;
The runny nose of someone's toddler;
An empty gurney in a hospice hallway;
Or the last dark spike impaling dawn.
Hanging on and hanging in.
Not knowing. Not going.
Still here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/19/2024 9:20:21 AM # 1.0.0.1119
