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 The Way I Feel

The Way I Feel

A Poem by Eve


Sometimes I still awake with the sound of the wind 
changing my direction like the sound of a rooster 
in the dark light before dawn.
When destiny is taking shape and forming into day
and it's hatching dreams.
I can still hear my father on the John Deere
taking out his frustrations in a long stream 
of obscenities that would curl my mother's hair
and make us giggle.
From the sun warmed lair on top of my mare's bare
back I would find wild blackberries and familiar 
hillsides of a Kentucky girls isolation.
I do not get lonely. I do not know how. 
I do not know any other way, but I miss
people, places, the smell of things.
Like the smell of early autumn hay bales
waiting in winding rows and the cool
musty smell of millet bugs in the dust
of shelled yellow corn.
Like the night scene from behind the screen
of the highest open window and how the 
breeze would caress tanned summer legs
as they lay shining moonlight white.
  
Or the lifted scent of Irish spring and cotton, 
sheets cooling on aloe sunburns as I would watch 
with infatuation the fruit bats courting with the
lamp post and dream of the man that I would marry.
I miss some people, the way they smile, the way
they smell of Sunday clean and leather, 
I miss the way they shine with love for each other.
I do not get lonely. I do not know how,
I miss the way I feel when they are near.

© 2014 Eve


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Added on November 8, 2014
Last Updated on November 8, 2014

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