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Nov 2010
There is a purple vase of golden flowers on the kitchen table
Its waxy surface gleaning in the morning sun
Through the white and rustling blinds
Shuffling in the early breeze
There is a field of uncut grass that stretches
To the tree line
Purple and golden and green
And my mother is sleeping in the other room
While the coffee brews
I stopped loving when I was a child
And my lovers rejoice in my boredom
Like those flowers I rose to water
While my mother slept
Written by
Sean Michael Webber
751
 
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