Posts by amybarone

Talone’s Yard

By on Oct 4, 2020 in Poetry | Comments Off

The slight pear tree held my five-year-old curious-girl frame. Fall fell year-long. Ladybugs tempted and purified. Startled by a praying mantis, I dropped to my knees. A doorway in the hedge led me home. Years later, I finally learned to inhale. Half-smoked cigarettes dotted spots under the pines, where I also left my innocence. Baited by bases. Kissed by the sun. Sustained by drugstore candy and...

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Fall in Philadelphia

By on Oct 29, 2017 in Poetry | 1 comment

Days burst with time. Leaves aflame with color. We trudged through neat piles toward grownup-hood. We had all that we wanted. Youth untouched by earthquakes and aftershocks, we found shelter from the autumn chill playing touch football with neighbors. Unaware we wanted for nothing. This morning an oil painting beckons— a gazebo strewn with wispy vines and landscape of pink blossoms— draws me to dream, backward and forward. We want all that we...

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Where I’m From

By on Aug 17, 2015 in Poetry | Comments Off

A blood orange sun told me not to stay. Ears and heart outstretched, I’d bow to its splendor until it dropped from the horizon. Born to be Wild screeched from huge speakers at the church carnival, where we hid behind big trees with former altar boys, tantalizing our younger sisters still afraid of the dark, who dressed in Danskin short sets. Our bachelor neighbor next door neighbor lived with his married sister. A staid accountant at the electric company by day, on Saturday nights he would stumble home, cutting through the neatly trimmed hedges, blood running down his face. But my fear of...

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By on Dec 7, 2014 in Poetry | Comments Off

At my mother’s house Children’s laughter no longer rings through sunlit rooms A family of one has settled in But days are long here Nature bewitches Fall’s brilliant yellow leaves shine on rainy days The barrenness of winter doesn’t disappoint Spring’s lush green uplifts the darkest mood On muggy summer nights crickets hold concerts that lull me to sleep At my mother’s house I write mornings from my Haverford haven A collage of sentiments stain loose-leaf journals We’re both now free from the familial thunder In my mother’s house I finally have a vacation home Only two hours...

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Secrets of the Heart

By on Oct 28, 2012 in Poetry | Comments Off

I didn’t know my mother loved pink roses Until the day I ordered floral arrangements for her funeral Mass She didn’t seem to care much for flowers as a young mother She never received flowers from my father, who tended our special rose gardens each summer I thought she considered bouquets a frivolous purchase Maybe she thought flowers flourished best in their natural habitat My mother grew up with a father whose passion was gardening Flowers, most of whose names I never learned, framed the backdrop of my childhood summers But pink roses? I had to discover an intimate slice of my...

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