”When I’m big,” you say,
”I want to be an uce cream lady and a poet.”
Here are scoops of ice cream that will slip through your fingers,
yellower than lemon, an orange grove in flame
and red squeezed from watermelon blood. This is
where poetry lives. So why do you need words.
Testifying to Beauty
Testifying to Beauty
Her poem
Revenge of the Stuttering Child
The Sign of the Bite
The Red Catalogue of the Word Sunset
Wheat
Ice Cream
Her poem
Revenge of the Stuttering Child
The Sign of the Bite
The Red Catalogue of the Word Sunset
Wheat
Ice Cream
AuthorRonny Someck