Priscilla Prof Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Priscilla Prof
Priscilla
I feel like elixir, liquid in a pot and boiling.
She remains large spoon, long stick, stirring.
I thicken as time goes; a solvent turn solid.
“You can write, you must write, ” She said
And writing is what I did.
Good or bad, I am I, a poet, she made me.
Now apart and away; she is sick with cancer
I am done with school; words stay inside me.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: appreciation
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4/18/2024 7:58:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
