Nothing seemed right
to come from Kansas to LA, to
walk the streets at night, to
feel the cooling air
though smog so thick
it hurt your lungs.
Such a search defies jazz, defies
the homemade pizza, your thoughts
elsewhere, not tasting
tomato paste,
not hearing traffic dusting
cobwebs over sidewalks.
The aura overwhelms finally,
the secrets she knew, the hope
in her eyes, the urging forward,
the competition, the movement
into our dreams,
But in her eyes so much more,
that wistful look of the
child who never did become.
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
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Love Tinka