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Kimi ZS Oct 2018
The summer freckles the
boys, tucking in the grasses
in their masses, forgetting
what their mothers sang. Their
love burns in blood-stream blaze,
becomes heat and nothing else and
nothing else. Our sun set late, so they pray for consenting
girls that feed wrists into freckled hands to
brand themselves, bruised and brown.
A response to the line "The grasses forgetting their blaze, and consenting to brown" from 'A Sunset of the City' by Gwendolyn Brooks. The line is embedded in the last words of each line.
E B K Sep 2018
I met Ms. Brooks just today
Her voice sounded so bright
Filled with pain, and hope, and life
showing darkness, not just the light

She sat me down and showed me her tools
They had all kinds of names.
Like "Volta" and "Cacophony"
Not a single one sounded the same

Then she showed me "kitchenette"
Hammered, filed, and whittled to be
it showed a world that stifled any thought
of Hope, or Want-- It startled me

I shook her hand and took her work
Filing it in my brain
Trying to remember all those words
So that the power remains

— The End —