about my mother, and the hornbeam trees
there is a passage
loose, rocky soil,
ideal for aloe, that unlikely balm,
except for climate.
What I see here, instead,
are mostly weeds I can’t identify
and too much brick
a “yard” made of gravel
a man diligently tending the next
and this one I sit in
just a bit.
Hart St. Brooklyn, NY
One thought on “Poems from New York, #2”
This evokes feelings of longing and a little sadness in me. I like it.