A description poem.
Hair that is brown, but almost black with all that gel on it,
and curly at the back where it lies on his neck.
Eyes that are brown, but almost bronzed by that golden gleam,
and rimmed with red from the tears of death.
Skin that is not brown, but still tan with the summers warmth,
and I am aching with the need to be held.
Life that feels brown, devoid of bright color or daydreams,
because we are again separated by the space of living.
from I am Finn
There was a woman, not long ago.
She cannot remember today.
I am not her daughter. I am a friend
Who sits and watches her from the hall.
She is tall and perhaps her hair is in a bun.
She might be eating a carrot from a little plastic
Sack that is next to her on a lonely bench.
I watch her from the hall of our dark building
And I wonder who was the first person to eat a carrot.
She isnt smart or maybe she is but I havent noticed
because she doesnt talk too much and never eats bananas.
But I watch her anyway cause I have nothing else to do.