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Writer's pictureJustin Kolosick

Mother...



As we piled our promises we learned

an episode turned

a series dropped from a high

a few paces away...


Eyes clothed, crusted, closed

a sick child welcomed me. us. we. all.

serving the city with pants too tight

wind, crank, grind

shut the blind ambition to 

the sugar mill


More than a mile

unscathed to the pine forested rim

 of

Mother pulled back the soiled cloth

paved smiling, irrigating long-awaited waste.

gazing down a flock of newly bold

yet sparsely furnished brown eyes

She.

She reluctantly flew to the waterfall


HIDDEN

IN

HER


Both wounded now.

our horses straight down

resist a confident kneel

with little sound


In a few hours, a week old, caught up to us.

frightened to answer

She was too, all should be,

with his eyes, with his will,

closed and wasting valuable land.


Wasting Away


with ambition the size of our passengers

we all reluctantly flew to the waterfall.


Jumping, flowing, flailing about,

fall slapped, turned about

in her arms, on our backs


We Call


hidden in her tropical web

founded in her cliff hanging comfort

wrapping up a dive worthwhile.

We succumb to her dismissal


el sol se fue.

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