another cup

 

saturday morning finds me

sitting in my doorway

listening to the pitter pat

of the falling rain,

and soaking up the cool

wind blowing on my face

and skin.

the sky is blanketed

in a quilt of clouds,

all different shades of

gray and silver.

and my bare feet long to

take me to the soft wet

grass

and through the cold

dirty gutters

of my youth.

but my city feet are

too tender now

and i turn back inside

for another cup

of coffee

and a blanket that

i hope will

cover up my sadness.

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About denelle

writer. artist. ponderer.

Posted on June 25, 2010, in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. “through the cold
    dirty gutters
    of my youth.”

    i love the emotion in your poems, that seep a little like nostalgia through the page. a great poem once again. 🙂

    xx

  2. but like playing a guitar, you won’t create experiences without developing callouses; on fingers or feet. just do it.

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