this is my lot
we each have our own lota lot is a sheaf of wheat
from our father’s fielda lot is a grain of wheat
from our mother’s handa lot is a stem of wheat
shaped like a keya key to a room
a skeleton keywe each have our own room
sometimes a corner of my roomis a corner of your room
sometimes it isn’tsome rooms are small & dank
some are bright wheat fieldswith broad horizons and locusts
sleeping in the soilthe wife of lot
looked back & nowseasons all our
solitary suppers
lots
3 responses to “lots”
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Wow. This is very good. I’m away to think about this one.
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Clever!
and, quite thought provoking! -
How did I miss this? I especially like the last three stanzas, but the whole thing is great & bears multiple re-readings.
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