The water

Siobhan Connally

I am from chipped coffee cup hidden behind trinkets of Happy Meals on a lower shelf.

I am from seaweed, slick and tangled around your ankles.

I am from the red barn, old and meandering, standing despite the ravage
of time.

I am from the spiky cactus dahlias, morning glories and errant tulips in the grass.

I am from self consternation and indecision, from Zita of the pots and pans and genius mothers and others.

I am famine fed.

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