Editing poetry: England visit

the English transit system
my grandmother’s
tiny frame
and incurable lateness,
the cities like a full mouth
crammed with roundabout teeth
the invisible distance of mountains
the visible proximity of family
and those friends who never grow up,
the dancefloors that never change
are never cleaned
and tiny packages of pre-made food,
the rolling boredom of country life,
how we plunge in perfect silence
across the etymology of villages
the old stores are swept up like leaves
and the pavements are polished and picked clean,
for the first time,
there is something like home in this place,
in the bubbling rush of streaming fields.

via Editing poetry: England visit.


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