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Sonja Benskin Mesher
Poems
Sep 2017
.ooz.
did you say whose?
we had hoped to live there, osea.
mud ooz at low tide, fall flat &
wallow.
**** out slowly.
they sold the place to those who sold the place to those.
then those sold it too, to them, who passed it on to those.
we could not live there then.
we live here.
osea. where.
we reared the fire, wild ones flying, walked the shallows, marked
tides.
yet
live here now
instead,
sbm.
Written by
Sonja Benskin Mesher
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Weeping willow
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