Dear Father, loss is the language you taught me
and you taught me well. i became fluent around
the time i first bled into a woman and, with a woman's eyes,
i saw i had lost you before my exile from paradise,
hurdling like a fallen angel into hard light, thinking
i would be held, thinking i would be loved.
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no woman's land
Poetrybless the blood no one can see highest rankings: #1 in poembook #1 in thoughtsandfeelings #1 in personal #1 in freeverse © z. t. corley, 2023