Broken Umbrellas Poem by Adelaide Lii
Broken Umbrellas
They speak of memories, progress, and calculations but
you’d rather think of art in it’s purest form.
Heads down on desks, we are
up and around in clumps, maybe, or on number lines,
looking like mice and trying to hide.
Charismatic only in the smallest of spaces.
Wrap me up in sheets and sheets
because I keep on having dreams where
I mistake you for strangers and broken umbrellas.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 7:15:45 PM # 1.0.0.1119
