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  • Richard Fenwick ~ Author/Poet

"The Barren Bits"


The Barren Bits

From the passenger's seat

of your car, I'm inside a journal

writing of the barren bits

between Phoenix and L.A.,

how we're running from

a wren atop a barrel cactus,

or swift vans filled with children

near enough now to Blyth,

a truck missing a left rear tire.

As I write, you interrupt me

to say you wish we were

running to Carolina, and my p en

wanders past the mesquite

and palo verde trees

to sycamores and elms, wild grass

growing green upon a creek bed,

a small mountain cabin

with a curl of smoke lifting

from it red brick stack.

There's a swing on the porch,

a good guitar lying near

the front window, and inside

I can even see a bottle of wine

in a bucket of melting ice,

and hear your voice calling

from a back bedroom asking me

to put away the journal,

to close the door once the dog

has slipped out, to fill our glasses

before I pad the wood floor,

like a buck in overgrown woods,

to raise a shade and cast sunlight

across your favorite print,

that exceptional red poppy

painted for us by O'Keeffe

Copyright 2011


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