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by
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Day
Poems
Nov 2020
between history and right now
Spine so curved,
can’t see the sky.
The pavements cracked;
the grass is dry.
Air smells odd,
The sky turned red.
States on fire
burned up the dead.
A mother prays
her child can eat.
A father works
to make ends meet.
The crops have turned
the soil sour.
A church bell turns,
another hour.
Written by
Day
21/Genderqueer/St Louis
(21/Genderqueer/St Louis)
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