What, she said, are you going to do?
I thought of the Tarahumara
who run over a hundred miles
in their huaraches—
take many small steps,
I said, and let a smile
find my face.
August 11, 2016 by Rosemerry
What, she said, are you going to do?
I thought of the Tarahumara
who run over a hundred miles
in their huaraches—
take many small steps,
I said, and let a smile
find my face.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged answer, approach, poem, poetry | 1 Comment
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There sure is dread in the front of the poem, despite the reason for being so left poetically obscure. Just like the news, you don’t have to know the details to feel the pain.