Love this, JD

Sunday morning. My hands have twisted me awake. I thought I was more like an elm once. Huge with deep roots, hands that could forever grasp the sky. Across from this “safe” stone porch, crows rustle the trees, screaming at cats, or each other. You’d think there was something to eat nearby, but they keep to the branches, out of the cat’s reach.
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J.D. Harms
Jenine Bsharah Baines
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Sep 19, 2023
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Love this, JD
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Written by Jenine Bsharah Baines3K Followers
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J…Jen…Jeni…Jenine... Proper names are poetry in the raw. (W.H. Auden) Poet, singer, seeker, hippie grandmother gleefully revealing herself
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