This poem is taken from Stand 228, 18(4) December 2020 - February 2021.
Three Poems
Swimming
The lake is a blue-grey iris.
My mother takes off her glasses,
places them on the blanket.
She walks straight in, plunges
towards the mud, swirls
...
Swimming
The lake is a blue-grey iris.
My mother takes off her glasses,
places them on the blanket.
She walks straight in, plunges
towards the mud, swirls
...
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