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Poet of the Week: Sean Hill

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Bemidji Blues

for Arnold Rampersad

Shadows bluing the snow, the pines’ and mine,
bear the cast of a kestrel’s blue-grey crown
I note as I find my way about this town.

Blues here more likely the Nordic-eyes kind
than the blue-black of some Black folk back home.
Here so many lakes reflect the sky’s blue dome;

some summer days skimmed-milk blue tints windblown
whitecaps. Blue’s an adjective, verb, and noun,
and the color of the world when I pine

because she’s gone leaving too much wine and time.
Blue shadows on the snow, mine and the pines’.
For the tall man, his blue ox, and now me, home

is Bemidji, though the blues here around
more the cast of a kestrel’s blue-grey crown
than the blue-black of my cousins back home.

 

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