225 292
Poems
225
IN IZMIR THE RAIN
In Izmir the rain
brings the inland hills
to the streets. I see
a pair of workboots,
a woman’s purse,
pieces of a bicycle.
In October a girl
had gone to the woods
for acorns. They sit
in a bowl this morning
in storm as her mother
makes breakfast,
wincing at the forecast.
More rain, more debris
to step through
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