writing helps

[russ martin]

I thought you all might be able to especially identify with a poem I
wrote recently:

Decrescendo

Dreaming,
I was young
And in love.
She looked like
Charlotte Church.
To touch was
To tingle.

Frantic call.
My mother's room.
Groggy, I hear:
"Find my shoes.
Hurry. It's time
to go to America."
Wild eyes.

I soothe
Parchment skin.
I wait
For both our hearts
To calm.

Thanks for your time,

Russ