Written for:  Poetic Asides April 2017 Challenge-Day 1
Write a reminiscing poem.

Only a five year-old
would race down a hill
side, and crash
into a bee. Me, forgetting
ripe blackberries waiting
to be picked. I wanted
to lick my wound that throbbed
and swelled, a red lump
like a clown’s nose. Mom
covered it with cold,
wet mud. Tears dried.
If only every solution
could be that simple.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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4 Responses to Comfort

  1. Charley says:

    Isn’t it amazing how effective, how wonderfully deceptive a simply written poem can appear. Like mud on an owie. Well done!


  2. Tom Merriman says:

    A painful memory nicely written, Sara.


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