One Hundred and Thirty-One.


Izzy circle


the walls are peeling back
scrubbing themselves off this skin
turning back to plastered yellow

poured back to standing like syrup
molten and warm and sickly sweet
blood-licked lips chattering morning’s heat


Sarah circle


You were a tiny life, and yours was a tiny death
But it was not for nothing that you were held as you went
And swaddled in blankets, tucked in safe and warm
Your loss all the sweeter for being so small



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