My Mother's Sunset A poem by Diane Frank My Mother's Sunset What I most remember about her paintingis what she did with the sky. A band of bright orange, but rapidly fading. That tangerine stripe at the edge of the... Continue Reading →
Sophia's Hands A poem by Diane Frank Sophia's HandsJust before she was born,her father tripped over Emily Dickinson's grave.Her poems are wiser than her years,and sometimes I wonder howthese words can come from a penheld by such small hands. Her... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 