Poem by Doniell Cushman
Small city rising between
the swells of hilly Palouse and mountainous range Often sun-dipped Crazy falls once bursting with Salmon and indigenous ones Icy cold in the dull winters Blooming in lilacs, roses and ponderosa with needles, cones and rippled bark vaguely scented in a homey musk Downtown, Northtown Cannon, Comstock, Manito and Mirabeau (which has turtles) Where turkey and deer have no boundaries, and the sunsets are best viewed from High Drive, overlooking 395 Once part of a fair now defunct With crumbling houses and mansions behind the hospitals That many flock to from three states or so And boasts a grand wagon slide for the inclined Bearing three local universities and scads of bars in all forms of persuasion This place where many call home at a tribal casino or an Idaho retreat, are Purchasing tags for game and frequenting community farms, they live spread out Cramped into a congested trough, or drive in from external county estates and towns rarely worth mentioning insomuch that most only know it as Spokane © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. All rights reserved by Doniell Cushman.
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AuthorDoniell Cushman, B.A. cum laude Archives
June 2022
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