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Mar 2010
Tanks tear through
flaming towns- a
mother shielding bullets.

The world erupts and
he is alive in a sea of
broken bodies.

In his tattered tent,
late-night he
is broken too.

He touches me
like I was
shattered glass

as his fingers braid
my loose strands:
assemble, disassemble.

The scent of sawdust
and powder lingers
on his ashy skin.

I inhale and
hold him,
Stacy Del Gallo
Written by
Stacy Del Gallo  Columbia, MD
(Columbia, MD)   
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