"I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..."   POETRYrepairsv07.09:100

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VALERIE MACEWAN What Your Grandmother Saw Your grandmother told me she saw young black girls as they passed her yard, heads lifted, filled with thoughts of education and lunch counters, bus rides and the National Guard. Your grandmother said she felt proud of those young black girls arm in arm, until one girl stopped, on her way to the bridge, lifted her skirt and urinated on your grandmothers front lawn. Your grandmother told me she was sad, because she would have let them in, those young black girls. ©2007 www.poetryrepairs.com a.k.a. PoetryRepairShop (poetry and prose on this site is published under one time electronic publication rights; all rights revert to or are retained by the author/poet of the work/s published). site and page design ©2007 by JohnHorvathJr.

"Poetry endangers the established order in the soul."   poetryREpairs v07.09:100

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SUZANNE SCARFONE Everyone is Gone My neighbor has lost himself he looks for himself day and night he is lost the man who lives across the street he comes out his front door and stands arms outstretched moaning his name calling himself pleading with me to find him to look up and down the block for a boy at dusk on a bike or a child skipping home from school he says I am lost and my mother has gone into the wind leaving great green splashes of morning on the dark purple sky and she has lost me left me left me here on this small lawn with the dawn heaving toward me a boy in a big old body open and gaping my soul sees a glimpse of her back melt green and warm and dimly she holds nothing for me but this one moment on the grass on a bright fall morning with trees grinning and a black squirrel watching me grope toward my self

"Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!"   poetryrePAIRs v07.09:100

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VALERIE MACEWAN Savannah RiverMan Torched by a white woman at age fifteen in Pembrooke County, Georgia. They were fighting over the gas pump privilege, who's first in line and the loser gets burned. Ten years later, begging for the tourism dollar, he claims a different privilege. By massaging guilt-- storyshame and pitypennies. She had an all-white jury. And walked free like no black man ever could. Ten years later, he's stuffing dollar bills into scarred and bandaged fingers while homeless men form block long lines under live oaks waiting for their freemeal sermons. poetryrepairs.com seeks volunteer editors to expand PoetryRepairShop via "language".poetryrepairs.us into a true 'Contemporary' and 'International' site. If you are fluent in a language other than English and you wish to help, please edit a one or two poems; send the poems and a paragraph 'about you' to editor@poetryrepairs.zzn.com .

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