Ma

We are children of ma fatly sitting
On her smile at our hands passing
How they were grubby below nails.

It is she who bore us at a new dawn
Persisted with us in hills and moon
In a sky of white words like clouds.

It is she who will change our skins
A slough we turn over to her rocks
So it will announce we once lived.

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This entry was posted in poems and tagged .

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