The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Robert Joe Stout

Growing Old

There are times

when life splits

into so many joys

one just hangs on,

amazed. And times

when one is alone

in a garden

where nothing 

grows. And times

when one takes

someone's hand and says,

"Why were you gone so long?"

Memory

Over powdering stones

of what had been

a house

cascades of scarlet

bougainvillea

wrap window,

door,

but thorned,

bringing blood

when touched,

                        so much

 like

          you