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Something in the Grass

Knute Skinner

Jul 01 2012

0 mins

She is kicking at something in the grass,
grass halfway up to her knees nearly,
knees no doubt as coarse
as her bare elbows.

Add a few years and she is my mother
out in the yard kicking spirits away
as she feeds the chickens.

Passing, I try not to stare,
but I take in a dirty-blonde head
and a worn shirt open at a scrawny neck.

Beyond, I give her the crazed eyes
that dog me from life to life.

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