Norman Poem by Ian Bowen
Norman
She, as quiet
as a motel mouse.
sitting in the silence you could cut
with a wielding knife.
Rocking chair
as still as a mirrored ocean.
A book that yellowed
on her flowered lap, lay
open at the final page.
Closed curtains, made
all shadows redundant,
hid all insanity, madness….
as he cleaned the shower,
in her borrowed dress.
Monday, February 1, 2010
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5/4/2024 12:27:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
