Poetry Porch: Poetry


Night Flower 
by Robert K. Johnson 

(for June W.)
Every time I return
your bluebook anwers,
whether I’ve graded them
your quiet eyes
never brighten
or dull to grey,

your half-smile—
faint as moonlight
on distant trees—
never widens
or disappears.
And I feel again
I’ve put the bluebook

not in your hand,
but into a mailbox
on the rim of the land
that lies in front
of your home—
                 miles beyond
what my eyes can see.

Copyright © 2002 by Robert K. Johnson.