watches me mow my lawn
from her porch
three houses away,
& her mother
next to her
could be
day-dreaming.
Noon sun, like a restless master
on my back,
sweat doing more
than gleaming,
it's feral, my skin darkening.
Steadfast daughter, staring
hard at the evolution—
brown flesh turning blacker,
she won't look away.
I stop to wipe my head,
peek over,
her mother gets up,
a face—like reproach,
puts a hand
on the daughter's shoulder,
both of them watch me
grasp the handle bar,
pull the cord
& finish off
my lawn.
8
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100 words
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Inspired by a Yusef Komunyakaa poem: "Work"
An experience put me square in his poem.
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Fell right into this. Reminded me —what doesn't these days?— of a moment on Long Island in the 1980s, another lawn, another mother-daughter unit.
Great implications, particularly in the final stanza. Well done.*
Rhythm and meaning working with ease...Fave!
I love meeting my fellow man's neighbors because I've never known one of my own.
Powerful images that propel the underlying emotions beautifully forward.
*she won´t look away* - I kept rereading this poem. So much going on.