A Bowl Of Soup To Break The Fast

Standard

 

We meet where moths

move to the light

and crickets rub wings.

 

Një, dy, tre,

one, two, three.

 

Beneath the veranda,

on the forest’s edge,

five girls learn

that language is

racing, tickling,

swinging and giggling

and that falling hurts

in any country

and crying

sounds the same.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s