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Two Poems for Summer

Swingset: Used, Free

Choked up with weeds,
hard to mow around now
the grass has grown back
where feet always wore it thin.
Spiderwebs on the swings
that sway with wind.
The even-spaced metal bars
hold no memory of hands
that gripped them so tightly
before letting go.


Concrete Chunk in my Daughter’s Rock Collection

Chip of sidewalk
in her hoard of rose quartz,
amethyst, obsidian—

is this granite? Marble?
She thumbs through
her guides, weighs
in her palm the mottled
gray mystery

from the ever-moving
swirl of a mixer
some decades ago
when our working class
suburb was a new idea.

How do I tell her
it’s not important—
man made it,

when she is learning
to collect without bias
everything good and solid
that holds us up.

Photo by Alexey Demidov on Unsplash

Renee Emerson
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