strung out, sprung out
on the white picket fence
babbling blue
target jays
snowbirds in their own
right, down to the edges
of all that was forgotten
whisper, clutter
you’ll end up your mother
pale daisies kissed by sunlight
we might
go on dancing without movement
our swelling minds
lost in the afterwords
when we break
when we shake
hands, after supper
and dishes become reasons
to forget and not forgive


Published by

Mandy Joy Poole

Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.

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