Radio Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
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Each of us on our mind; has scar or something as a wound; a carving.
Most of them are rooted in childhood, on flesh, on the hearts, or skin.
They can be said or heard, done or been, kind and mean.
And mine is dog in box out of sight, in hiding; it speaks.
Dog’s accent and the words were sweet.
It took time to find out, Mom had lied.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: childhood
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5/5/2024 1:42:51 AM # 1.0.0.1119
