Myra Infante Sheridan

Myra Infante Sheridan
FESTIBA
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
― Ernest Hemingway

Monday, May 17, 2010

Two years ago today...

the events of the following poem began to unfold.


My Fancy
Myra Infante ©2010

Not forever but while I expire
I’ll row with you

And break Spanish trundles
As we rally allegiance

I’ll leave you sheathless
As the rain drips on your

Exposed head trickling
Down the scars affixed to your arm

Ruthful I’ll cede god and country
And harvest leftover insecurities

To feed my conceits
Of brine and scrawls

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