A Blank Sheet of Paper
by Foster Dickson


Sitting here, considering that there are six billion people
on Earth, and 300 million live in the United States, which
means we have just five per-cent of the world's population.

I write poetry. I like poetry, I believe it means something.

Everyday Nature takes some people away from us living,
with all sorts of dirty tricks that we don't seem to see coming.
But we keep on anyway, thinking about them sitting beside God.

Poems don't seem to make a whole lot of difference, do they?

Staring at a blank sheet of paper that came from some mill that
chopped up a tree that grew from the ground, and fed on the Sun
and rain, as grandiose as God Himself, from the soil that feeds us, too.

Poems are our stories, all our little tiny stories. And they matter.






Copyright 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.