Poems

Ephemera

MexicoMapIn the general store north
Of Toronto, Kansas, I bought
Handmade postcards from
A local artist, a rusted Ford
In a field of weeds, rooster,
Meadows of sunflowers.
The dusty baggie held
Five cards. It is hard to find
Postcards anymore. Gone
With them are letters
And notes and notebooks
Full of notes and notes on
Lined paper or stationery. Continue reading “Ephemera”