What Has Been Lost

What has been lost
in the city of rush:
the sound of
water in the gutters,
clean after hard rain.
Second floor porch sitting, 
speaking to
every person in view.

Unafraid walking
at night regardless of
actual safety,

yet even when we know
how fortressed
we’ve become,

we find a way
to at least

occasional joy.

You will sneer and tell me
of your small town 
where they still don’t 
lock their doors
and I will ask you about
what has been lost there,
ask about 
guns in nightstands,
about how long you stare
at unfamiliar cars;

you will shrug and say
nevertheless, we find a way
to smile and laugh somewhat.

Home is where
fear is manageable;

dark and light
blur into one another,
covering what has been lost

as if obscured by fog,
or perhaps by smoke
from something burning
elsewhere.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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