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whitetea
whitetea
Mar 12, 2009 ⭐ View statistics (Premium feature)

dream

the wind picked over our little house,
skeleton first.

bits of dust and things torn out
circling through the filthy air

and my mother cried to her only son
'call down your angels'

knowing I had none.
— whitetea, Mar 12, 2009

About This Poem

About the Author

Region, Country: United States, USA

Favorite Poets: Chrystos, Mark Strand, Adrienne Rich, Naomi Shihab Nye, Rachel M. Simon, Donald Justice, Mary Oliver, Nikki Giovanni, Alice Walker, Bukowski, Mary Lambert

More from this author

Critiques

A

Arrow

17 years 2 months ago

You are the

master of understated power. Great poem. Love the subtle rhyme, the expression of feeling without the use of any feeling words. Impeccable, as usual. I have been inspired to vote.
Janice Pearce

Janice Pearce

17 years 2 months ago

dream

I loved it!! ______________________________________________________ Income-tax forms should be more realistic by allowing the taxpayer to list "Uncle Sam" as a dependent Anonymous
B

barbsdad2003

17 years 2 months ago

Wow!

How inordinately sad. And so powerfully put. As is so typical of good writing, the indirection brings it home much more sharply than directness could ever hope to accomplish. Not-so-secret admirer Chuck
whitetea

whitetea

17 years 2 months ago

>

you really think about what you read and so I'm always very happy to hear from you here. its probably something you can relate to, going against the religion you were raised in. thanks chuck!
A

Atticus

17 years 2 months ago

beautiful frame...

...for a visual form. nicely done. -ns
whitetea

whitetea

17 years 2 months ago

>

thank you for coming by and reading this, very appreciated.