Student Work from Poeteen’s Poetry Workshops
Posted on January 13, 2017
Ask yourself: how do you know what you know?
How do you know about the moss that clings to the sea-sprayed rock?
Did it whisper its story to you as you brushed your fingers through its soft beds of hair?
He saw her on a Monday morning
Olive skin, olive hair, and olive eyes
She had been plucked from a branch of rough, cracked bark
Cloaked in slender leaves.
All my life so far, I have loved more than one thing.
When I was a field hand in Shanghai I loved licking the dried salt off my fingers at the end of the day.
When I was a grave digger I loved the smell of fresh snow.
When I was the wind I loved the trees, and when I was a tree I loved the wind.