Sunday Morning

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Sometimes I count the way you look at my hair in the wild and green Sunday morning walks at the park. I count the stare.

One blink. Two blink. Three and four.

And when I try to look back, you turn your eyes to the ground. As if the ground has something more important to show you. I blink at your stare in the ground. As if it could tell me why my auburn hair fascinates you so every Sunday morning.

 

© Nicoletta

 

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

 

Photo by Kyriakos Christodoulides

Song: Jolene-Dolly Parton

 

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