Straws

Mother jumped a cliff too high to land without breaking a few legs; her bloody nose drips fragments of white her lungs don’t inhale. I can see the lines written on her face; she thinks they’re wrinkles. What can I say to those that meet her? If you’re kind enough, my mother might pass the straw to you?

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3 comments so far

  1. SandyCarlson on

    An interesting portrait of mother.

  2. Tumblewords on

    Wow – layers and layers here.

  3. gabrielle on

    what a brave poem


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