30 Years Of Sorrow Revisited
Poetry Writing and Ruminations
A Boston wind pulls open our coats with confident hands
We continue, set on our destination
For eighty-five cents,
you can travel to a Pilgrims church
or a Puritan
Are they the same?
The benches are just as worn,
prayers just as ardent
I choose to stand on this trip, my face pressed close to the window
So close to the brief breaks of light...
Finally I move from my metal perch, my companion lifts herself up
Our quick farewell is unheard,
our fellow passengers are unknown
Pilgrim or Puritan?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Post a Comment
Post Comments (Atom)