Patchwork

daddy traced along the lines
a paper cut out

his first born

a daughter
a crimson fleck in the wind
a handful of sad notes

she would become

a cymbal crash
a spark thumping rim
glass full of near empty
gray day chime and flicker

she would fly

all those words from mouth
onto his good ear
the one he turns
just north of shoulder
to listen
to her

call his name

 

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Categories: Writing

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