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My heartbeat pulses
like the north star
in my lower lip: I am, I am, I am.

My hair is humid; it curls like
smoke.

I toss Petoskey stones back
to Lake Michigan
where they’ll be safe from
souvenir shops,

at least until they
land on shore again.

I suppose dreams are like that,

washing up again and again
on our eyes shoreline.
Kimberle Killips Jan 2013
You stared at me from across
The room and I met those
Petoskey stone eyes. You
Couldn't help that bit of drool
dripping from your open mouth.
I widened my eyes and scrunched
Up my face, but that just gave
you a goofy grin. The lady holding
You up turned to see what was
Making you smile so much. Babbling,
Like always, you sat back down to
Figure out what mischief to get yourself
Into next.
My baby nephew. :)
lillian Feb 2016
The evergreens protect us from
the sun, glowing warm.
Our skin is tired.

Our mouths are weary
from talking,
saying the same lies over
until they tumble back over themselves.

Our limbs restless, kicking in the water
at the end of dock,
creating an endless wake.
Watching our towels dry in the night breeze,
and hoping they will be dry enough in the morning.

Long ago we were driven into the
lake by a raging forest fire.
Swimming until we thought we’d choke,
we drowned,
our bodies became islands.

Inlets of moss and forest, sand touched
by ***** feet and berry vines eaten bare,
we cry.

The bluffs our witnesses to all
the yelling and crying,
to all the tears that fell like
lightning bugs in the night.

Glowing softly
when we’d look off the balcony of the house.
The lake reeds wrapping around my ankles,
we search for Petoskey stones hidden
in the sand.

— The End —