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Emily Burns - 2


Go to page 1 of Emily Burns' poetry.
Emily Burns' profile

an imagined woman has an imaginary conversation


for a friend from the old school



i want to thank you for the conversation
yesterday
 
i was a little sad thinking about friends
who pass
and the great cycle
of alpha and omega
 
you were one of my
first friends
 
i still remember
getting paddled in kindergarten
you and me and Cassidy
 
there are other memories too
 
and lately I've been wondering
about those
 
vision is adjusted by what we learn
and as i look back
i realize
things weren't what they seemed
 
and here we are
products of the old school
that sits empty now
 
and i suppose it is natural
to have regrets
products of learning
and thought
 
there are always things we might have done
or said
or accomplished
 
but there are days to be content
too
secure in the knowledge
that we have built a foundation
 
one that will outlast us
a hundred years
 
our hands
the ones that learned
to scrawl in that old school
 
have many constructive days before us
 
there are lives
we haven't touched yet
 
there are books
still to read
 
this didn't turn out like i thought it would

Dreaming Again

My dad wanders in and out of my dreams.
The conversations are better than I ever remember.
He says stuff to me now.
 
Apparently being dead does bring wisdom.
We were watching a flood, him and me.
                Up home.
It must have been astral travel cause I don't know
how I could have got there.
 
Well, anyway, we were watching the water storm through the yard and the street and the middle of the house.
And I could feel my insides aching to mourn for all the things that I watched float away.
                He grinned.
And said "let it go, it's just stuff."
And I ducked my head and wiped away the tears and wondered again
how he got so smart.

Searching

the Old one said
that the weather would become dangerous
that the lightning was searching in his dream
 
and I have watched and waited
and held my breath
when the storm came too near
 
and I breathed a sigh of relief
when July was over
because the dream must have been wrong
 
but this morning
red skies broadcast their warning
and lightning played
while Anna waited for the school bus
 
and one arrogant flash
happened so close
I was blinded for a moment
 
I closed my eyes
and white fireworks
danced
 
the storm followed me to work
and then wandered off
 
it may be
that the lightning
was searching

all along


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Go to page 1 of Emily Burns' poetry.

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