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It was years before I understood not all my playground friends…

Updated: 24 hours ago


on unsought moisture


through every mucus-lined threshold

a small girl body forms

in trusting

fetal exuberance.

Always sticky and sore.

It was so hard to jump rope.

(Previously published June, 2022, Rogue Agent Journal, Issue 87)

Finally, at sixty, I see

the unabashed truths

etched across gray folds,

cradled in brittling bone.

Name the


the utter, unholy, unselfing.

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