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Dec 18, 2017 | Poetry

I knew him

you did too

the silly kid with a chipped tooth

and gnarly hair


He stood over there

A houseplant


sowed from stale air

and a wet bed


From streams of sun

seeping through

the thickened foliage

of our cluttered home


It penetrated

delicate layers of his pale skin

until he was different


We tried to prune him


I rotated his jar

so he would always point

toward the son

I never was


Somehow he maintained his shape

and left us

standing alone


You and I


in our fickle garden

(To hear this piece performed to music, please visit my SoundCloud link here


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© Richie Smith 

© Richie Smith