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October 9, 2018 / barton smock

person Coreen Hampson, one poem


Coreen Hampson lives in Grants Pass, OR. She is a gardener and poet. Her first book of poetry, Growing Smaller, has recently been accepted by Flowstone Press. Poems recently accepted to appear in Amethyst Review, Turtle Island Quarterly, and Pulsar.


My words float in bubbles of foam
at the bottom of the riffle.
Or are they my words? They
may belong to someone else.
They have moved on downstream
anyway. But now
another cluster forms. Foam bubbles
whiten before they burst, the words
becoming something else.

A song woven by winds
in the locusts and cottonwoods
Or the rush of the riffle itself.
And then there is the whistle
of the Tannenger before it crosses
to meet its mate.
And the cry of a lonely daughter.

Not my words, but I will claim them.

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