There is chatter in my mind along
my route although I drive alone.
I pass familiar landmarks
alone but in conversation
with the woman I was another
time on this road.
All tagged indie poet
Uncle Ray: Hannah Jane Weber
the adults speak of Uncle Ray’s life in long, mournful sentences
while I pluck tufts of feathers from the green brocade
and blow them like dandelion seeds
but my wishes do not bring him back
Lightning The Way: Betsy Martin
At the pond the wind
makes gray goosebumps
that skim the skin of the water.