Meeting Place Poem by Joe Oppenheimer
Meeting Place
On the mug
my mother held -
where birds she loved
flew
under the storm
painted in grey,
over blue spruce, green pine,
and brown earth -
for years
she and I
almost touched
on its rim.
Our hands
almost joined
on its grip.
Then careless,
I let it slip
and shatter.
With no where else
to rendezvous,
we'd never
be together
again.
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
(Friday, September 28,2012
published, Chronogram 12/2012)
published, Chronogram 12/2012)
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4/26/2024 7:48:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
