November 2015 - Comments Off

Franci Revel

Mother's grief measures

The width of two hands
Pressed into sunburnt concrete.

Were she to open
The ground with her hands,
See my pasts sleep

Beneath as infants.
The Minstrel, Thief,
Gypsy the Owner of

Many and Girls who keep
Secrets to be nurtured
In limbs of mandrakes.

Anemone blood on The rope of a stillborn:
Flaking rust on

A spigot. Pasts in code, so
missed and asleep but not dead, asleep but not dead.

Published by: in Issue 1: Fall 2015, Poetry, Volume 72

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