Poems Written In Exile At Lake Morton, No. 29

Poems Written In Exile At Lake Morton, No. 29


There was an orange grove on the cliff.
After heavy rains, three waterfalls
would trickle down to wet the cobblestones
and make glow and reflect street lights.

We would stand below, watch the water
and diamond-like specks between
the crests of the dark cobblestones.
We would hold hands, stand still, stare.

We looked at the houses on the street,
each house had iron doors,
keyhole-less doors,
each house had iron bars
over its shuttered windows,
whether the iron bars had been installed
or not.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Sondra Ball