Anne Cook                                    

 

 


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            Gypsy Gates

                     Sturdy length of wire

plucked from a cache of garden treasures

        gathered in a worn wooden box

               as heavy in my grasp

           as indecision in my heart

  cut from fence around a faraway yard

                 worth considered

    saved for a chore like the one at hand

     my father was an old school gardener

       recycled long before required to

  this simple metal strand binds me to him

                 reminds me of him

            images of long lost spaces

  keen red roses protected by biting thorns

 drifting hearts inclined to complicated love

               signs seem to find me

       unexpected wind turns my head

 notions of flight like starlings in the trees

                         beckon

                            still

           old hands hold me steady

                  will not let me go

                 old ways own me

                    keep me safe

           protected even from myself

               behind the mended gate

 

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