empty frames by DB Cox

time rides a river—
memories rust
like old bullet holes
in highway signs—
sighs of relief
now that you’ve
all gone
moved along
with your hard facts
about the bags
of flag-wrapped kids
who ate red dirt
on height-numbered
killing hills
celebrated at home
with silent songs
of praise
in secret parades
down vacant
american avenues—
immortalized by artists
with no names
selling monuments
with mannequin faces
selling paintings
in empty frames

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4 Responses to “empty frames by DB Cox”

  1. the bags
    of flag-wrapped kids
    who ate red dirt

    This section hit me especially. Good one, db.

  2. “time rides a river—
    memories rust
    like old bullet holes
    in highway signs—”

    That is a stirring image that dives deep into me,
    letting me feel the weight of the lines to come.
    A fine poem.

  3. thanks folks

  4. simply and powerfully told. that’s what makes for great poetry.
    thanks, winnie

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