The Rusty Wheel

Written for:  Sunday Whirl #451

Words:  roots, yes, valve, left, seam, next, treat, speed, fade, wheel, watch, bleed

This poem is a rusty
wheel, stuck in
roots outside of
an old faded farmhouse,
at the next left
on Watcher’s Road.
Perhaps it was part
of an old carriage–
no valves, slow speed.

This poem entreats
your imagination’s
seams to open wide,
and see a different
time of life. Yes,
take a guess of how
this sere, bleeding
land used to look.

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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