Classic poem of the day
The afternoon sun is on their faces.
they are calm, not stupid,
pregnant, not bovine.
I know women like that
and not just in paintings —
an aunt who did not answer her husband back
not because she was plain
and Anna who writes poems
and hopes her avocado stones
will sprout in the kitchen.
Her voice is oatmeal and honey.
Member poem of the day
Vortices of backwash cycles at the bitumen face of a jetting jetty.
At least...
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