Photo by Roman Trifonov on Unsplash
Page corner buckles
under my turning finger;
paper creases once.
About the Creator
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More stories from Luna Jordan and writers in Poets and other communities.
When the Shelter Closes
Across the street from my house, a man slept under a tree, his dog by his side. My first, naive thought: he must be traveling through. But he kept coming back, often sleeping there during the day. Then it hit me—that person might not have a home.
By Bride of Sound6 days ago in Humans
Comments (4)
Great little piece of being of what a reader does. Good job.
Love this poem…
Everything you write is a page turner. Loved this!
Love the title which hooked me in and your great haiku delivered..