Poetry by David Filer

Dedicated to The Imani Project

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Walking

She won’t remember when she did it first:

Up on her own two feet, that sudden burst

Of speed and freedom, the length of the hall.

And then her mother’s arms to break her fall.

 

February 24, 2011

 

...and Talking

she stands

(that’s the other poem)

ready to throw her pale green

plastic ball

 

her eyes find

ours and we are watching

 

what she says then

slips in between all

the languages that we know

 

but we reach out

our hands and catch

her every word

 

April 22, 2011

 

For Hahna

 

—David Filer