Between today and tomorrow

the motherless child has pointed ears as if a hare and he runs
on the witchgrass and chicory field within the rifle’s range
the child
draws his blanket every evening up under his chin
the blanket with holes like stars
he covers the cold in his body
a cold so frail and shameful
he keeps silent when others talk he murmurs hail mary
when others believe that he’s cursing
until there comes the rain until valleys get deeper where streamlets run
him the one who lives hiding behind a woman’s icon
he steals the wild blackberries from the graveyard of the innocents

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Categories: My Poems in 2015 | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

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