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A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life


The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

The Differences

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

Wisdom of the Infinite

Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)





At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

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The Unrescued Boy

there is a little black face white face boy
whom I feed

he comes to my door
begging in a high-pitched plea

I find him enchanting
I worry about him
he is a teenager
he is alone
he has been abandoned

he does not like to come in
but insists on eating just right outside the door
he is alright with me talking to him as he eats
he ate three plates of food the other night nearly
without stopping
I didn't mind
as a matter of fact it made me smile
to see him satisfied in this way
he seemed so hungry
and if this was all I could do for him
then I was doing what I could
I talked to him in a kind way quietly
while he ate

he came again to my door
he does not knock
he sits at the door waiting
and when I open the door
I am often startled for there he is
our cat often is the first to know he is there
to sense him
last night he was anxious
he knows we are leaving
he saw the boxes piled up in the living room
still I gave him the offered plate of food
he ate with relish
but not near the house
this time he ate near the bench at the house
next door
as if the boxes were a kind of foreboding
poor unrescued boy

I saw the neighbor lady
she saw us
it was her bench we were sitting on
I said do you see that boy
he has no one
he looks well fed
she remarked
I told her we were leaving month's end
and asked would she look after him
in my stead
I felt a lump and water rise
she met my eyes and said she would

I believe she is a woman
who keeps her promises

this boy
is precious
to me

but this boy would not be/
is not

Copyright February 11, 2015 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World
All poetry/prose/ideas/rants are the strict legal property of this writer

This is a true story. But it shouldn't be true.
Not all of the details of this story have been provided on purpose.

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