Sunday, August 5, 2018

August 5. My first

Leaning my head against the wooden fence
of the backyard plot my grandmother revived the summer before
knowing it was over
needing to push
this tiny birth and death was mine alone
I did not share

the blood soaked into the earth
where years later the wild garlic grew
below the clothesline

5 comments:

  1. This draws you back in to read it again, and again.

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  2. I wonder if I'm misinterpreting this. But gasp.

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  3. OMG. I think "visceral" may be overused, but that's the first word that popped to mind when I read this.

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