New York City skyline at night

Poetry



Fall 2007

 

 


Martin Willitts, Jr.


Grandma Moses

The world flattens for me
into a picnic tablecloth

or a cross stitch of colored threads
of grass twined as lovers’ hands

or a postage stamp bought in town.
as I wonder where I might send them

or the sides of barns, the grains of red
shopworn & blistering reminders of heat

or the flatness of the land, stretching
further than eye or imagination

where no one is waiting for the news,
where no one expects iced lemonade

where no one roosts, where old coins
select gingham to be measured & cut

this is my life as I walk flat planes,
my toes are flat colors, flat as my life.

 

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