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    dots Submission Name: Newspaper Girldots

    Author: Jeniffer
    ASL Info:    18/f/earth
    Elite Ratio:    5.76 - 240/279/81
    Words: 217
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 844
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1411

       This really happened.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsNewspaper Girldots

    I think of him often

    he reminded me of my father,
    although he probably never hit anyone

    he was hard of hearing, and he surprised me
    by coming out on his porch
    I was trying to sell newspapers,
    covering a lonely block
    by myself

    He didn't want any Morning Tribune
    but he did want to show me where he once had
    tomato plants,
    and to talk about his friends, who were dying

    I would have stayed, but my boss was behind me
    and we walked back to her car, as he begged for us to stay and talk

    I could not stop feeling sad, thinking of him
    disappearing behind folds of skin,
    shambling about seeing the ghosts of tomato plants,
    dying alone

    I think I could find his house again
    the one with the big porch, on the tree shaded street
    but what would I say?

    "I'm here to talk about your tomato plants."

    It would probably make sense to him
    and I wouldn't care
    because I know what it's like to be lonely

    It is safer, perhaps
    to send a Christmas card,
    even though I don't know his name
    Maybe attached to some plants

    "Merry Christmas
    I haven't forgotten you

    -- Newspaper Girl"

    Submitted on 2009-07-22 12:57:30     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      interesting piece...like a note left...and what would we talk about? your tomato plants....yes, we would ..because the tomato plants have so much more meaning to this man than being just plants...

    he grows them , picks them, maybe sells them..

    like parts of his life where he is grown from experience, maybe he picks parts to remember...others to forget...and how much of himself has he sold...how much pride has he sold?

    there is the need for him to talk...but it's easier to express in terms of his garden, than it is to really talk about life itself...too painful.

    nice movement here, and mood...and my boss was there...so i either escaped or was really disappointed not to talk with him, not to be able to stay...

    so thoughtful...you have much talent...a different voice.

    | Posted on 2011-11-09 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]
      This is beautiful! First, I would like to tell you that this is excellently written. The spacing, the language, the emotion, and the entire feel of the poem are perfect. Your artistry with words is fantastic. Perhaps my favorite was:

    "He didn't want any Morning Tribune
    but he did want to show me where he once had
    tomato plants,
    and to talk about his friends, who were dying"

    This was just the perfect way to describe and old man...much like my grandfather and probably many other people's grandfathers. I would like to know if you ever did leave the man a Christmas card or go back and talk about his tomato plants. It never ceases to amaze me that kindness still exists in this wretched world in which we live. You have a good heart my dear, and you should never ever let anyone change that. Thank you for sharing this beautiful work!
    | Posted on 2009-07-23 00:00:00 | by clovernfoxglove | [ Reply to This ]
      Wow. I just loved it. The reference to your father, whom I'm guessing by the choice of words was abusive. The old man was my favorite part though. A very large character in this poem, though without name or many details of himself. I think it goes to show that even without a name, people still make a big impact on your life, no matter what, they just need to be worth finding. And more often than not, the ones worth finding are long gone. Very nicely written and I would love to read more. Keep up the amazing work.
    | Posted on 2009-07-23 00:00:00 | by Dreamer5009 | [ Reply to This ]
      There's a lot going on in this, and I like that--the little detail about your father (which has this wincing sort of blatantness to it), the old man, you wanting to go back, a christmas card... I had a job canvassing, and the only thing that made me actually want to do it was the possibility of these older people who like to talk. There was an old lady who invited me into her kitchen and gave me candy ("My husband and I went to dinner last night. Here's something for you," she said, putting an after dinner mint in my palm).

    I sometimes think the world is too full of people to be able to sort through and find the ones worth finding.

    But about your poem:
    I really like it.
    | Posted on 2009-07-22 00:00:00 | by etheror | [ Reply to This ]

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