B. Jo Bennett
Poetry
Dear Muse
The Journey
The journey
from the head to the
heart,
the longest,
most important,
least direct.
A road with no map.
Song of the Suburb
Hers and Mine
I remember my mother’s mother.
Her slick, silver-bunned hair, tight
as she passed etheric
and pale,
against the dimly lit and papered wall.
Mildew seeping through,
Faintly strong.