the little girl next door has a bag of
q-tips in her hand. she took them
from her baby brother, who begins
to cry. i think she’s five. i don’t
remember her name, but her blue
eyes smile at me and she waves
every time i come outside to smoke,
which i do much too often since you
crushed my heart in your strong,
musical hands. i wish i could talk
to her, but she doesn’t understand
a word of english; still, when the
weather is nice, she plays with my sister,
who learns her spanish from cartoons.
they run back and forth, laughing,
sometimes on the cold city sidewalk
but more often out back with the
fence between them, separating
our yards – mine choked with weeds
and hers ripe with tomatoes.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I love how the ethnic aspect of this kind of adds something I can't describe. Even though my focus in this(and imo the most important part of this) is only the three lines about smoking, it sets the whole tone and feel of your voice. Great poetry Jamie.
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This tugs at heart strings but not on the first look over. I had to read it a couple of times to really get it. As far as looks go, it doesn't look like a poem, but content says something completely different. It seems long and yet is quite short. You manage to put a lot in a small space, and make it not poetical, and yet completely poetical. This poem gives me problems, and I really like it, but I have no idea what to do with it. Don't get me wrong, I really like it, it's just one of those things where it's amazing in its simplicity. I think that’s what makes this poem so well done.
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