Mom always loved the rain. She loved the sharp edges of the stones
washed with it. Because she liked things clean.
It cleans every alley, she said.
God must like things clean. She was sure of this
more than the broken zippers
and the washed take-out boxes she saved in the pantry.
She loved to bleed.
Maybe she finally sensed God’s cleaning in it.
by Angela Koh
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This is quite visual prose, love the simplicity and well placed pauses. The most shortest poems I enjoy best, it keeps the reader thinking more on what is not written rather than what is.
My new site is up, the link is:
http://angelaejkoh.com/
Thank you Qarrtsiluni for sharing this poem. Looking forward to contributing more!
Very nice. Observant, poignant, understated and a wonderful air of mystery.