april poem a thon 11

April 11, 2013 § Leave a comment

fisk street (1961-1969)
was the first not brick house
the first wood house that was a house
that people lived in all year round
it was rather unremarkable, re-
markably
it was (except for this house
where I’m now drinking my morning coffee)
the house I lived in the longest, and
though I was grown up when I moved in
it was really the house I grew up in, it
was a hotbed… or — ,or (!), &
a perfect host
for the 60s (in the U S of A) in pullman
where for the moment,
most notably, (new brothers and
new father notwithstanding) no one
looked like me
except the next door neighbor who also had brown
eyes and long brown hair
but that was only part of it, every one was
so still,
they even laughed quietly and waited their turn to talk,
if they did,

ours was a familiar noisy house, and full
of students and teachers full of
more answers than questions, and music
and music lessons and
then the war
which added, which fed
no sustained, the thrum
bringing more students
and teachers and questions
than answers
but at least we got to ask them, but
I get ahead of myself

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