She opens her hands,
clenched for years
in a tight fist
like a new-born,
but these fists hold no secrets
of a mother’s womb,
no innocence, or dreams freshly sown—
instead, their hardened skin bears
lacerations that come
from a hard grip
on a fugitive soul
sliding mercilessly
into the devil's pit
deep, deep
where she buried
old wounds
(c) Neetu M.
last night’s hurricane blew the roof off
pieces of felt lay on the street like bits of rubber tires
She needs to dig deep
to pull the roots
that grow under her feet
to do so requires strength
It must have been
a stormy night
when love flew out the window
of my vacant room
like a feather
from a molting bird.
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More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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