i grew up in a small farm in población,
the cornstalks competing with sun,
the earth with holy feet.bore witness to no less than thirty
tragedies-at-sea. at night,
the lighthouse organizes witch hunts along
the shadowy sands and muted cabaret.i discovered the charm of hair at fifteen;
the power of words a little earlier, when
a girl that eventually broke my heart asked
why i write.her voice is like rain.
whenever it rains i hear whisperers from
the driven-away of whatever-it-washed.
i could hear rust forming.on my toes grew tongues that remember the taste
on the surfaces (whenever i bare my feet)
of the snowflakes that patterned their shivers upon them.— A. P.
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Accidents: A Collection of Poetry
PoetryIt's like learning a new tongue; like befriending an unfamiliar book, and finding love expressed in a million different languages that I cannot understand nor explain. - you have kept me awake for far too long Antoinette Prescott, 2016 "Accidents" i...