Wildfire
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Geronimo’s hair
Oranges
Poetry Poem
Bronzeville by Night (1949)
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His hope hangs
His hope hangs, two by four
on bent steel hinges
tilted and off center.
on the weathered plywood porch.
His comfort, is in her return
with the familiar creaking
and swing dropped slam,
timbre of screen against frame .
His memory was, off-key humming
some vague nostalgic tune
blurred in the kitchen,
cooking and cleans the dishes.
His dreams will remain, drying sweet
dangling in slanted sunlight
through the west window.
He sits, waits for supper.
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