April is Poetry Month




Scrappy branches of barren trees
scratch against October’s crisp
cobalt sky.
and a mother’s bedroom lamp
paint screaming banshees
across the lawn.
Winds heighten
to an eerie squeal.
She leans in, pulling a safety pin
from her ear.
Tussled hair, the scent of patchouli
and cigarettes. Her lips
taste of the night.
A safety pin punctures
the denim jacket’s collar.
A poignant promise
from a shadow too young to notice,
not old enough to know.
Long ago.
Still, now,
I wear a safety pin on my jacket,
if only to remember
the taste of the night,
and the smell of autumn.

©2015 j.g. lewis

This month it’s all about poetry.
Something new every day.


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