Edge Poem by James McLain

James McLain

James McLain

From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By

Edge



Bent is each crooked straight line.
Looking down at each woman, life is finished.
Even in death, one stands out.
Resting above all the rest.

Her corpse wears the smile of achievement,
illusions have come and gone, it is over.
Dead children reach out,
little hands coiled around cold stone feet.

Breasts filled with sour milk,
vinegar is sipted, each little bud runs empty.
Pulling them back to close to the garden I sit.
And when the weeding it stops,
blooming tonight, sweet magnolias.

Sunday, September 15, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: green
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James McLain

James McLain

From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By
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