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Out of Poverty to Something Else

Some moons are full and some are dark.

I see faces carved into the shrubbery, all that arborvitae.

I am a transplant. From a tiny little window box into a wide green field. Rootshock.

My heart did shatter. It did.

But so much has come flooding into the cracks! Lovejuice, my body.

This now, all the fir trees and airplanes. I do not own much on this earth.

Open up my jaws, wide. To swallow the ocean. One gulp. Maybe three.

Heart-hurt.

“Flute or piano?”

“Piano.”

And now I’ll eat olive bread and cheeses my childhood never could dream of. Things I did not know to like. 

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Poet and Tarot Reader, specializing in Water Cartography
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