Kyle Schlicher Poems

Without a sound she turned to face the window.

'Who do I call, the funeral home? ', she asked.
'The family or the church? ', she almost begged,
...

hear the rain typing
words on the roof of the porch
a poem in the storm
...

Bending the light
twisting
the sound.
...

there sleeping easy
dreaming, it twitches jumping
playing cat and mouse
...

The day I was born.
I know for a fact
it was in July
and early
...

old barn leaning, beaten,
battered
gray
by the weather
...

an erosion
of
mem ory
occurs
...

winter wind screaming
my ears freezing burning cold
with the profanity
...

It was a slow
agonizing
death.
...