Poetry

Caper's Poets

Abundance

Someone asks me why I cannot breathe,
they say my face is red,
usted mira todos rojos
and I tell them that
it all started to feel like a coffin
sometime last February

Cannot shake it, no?
I say no, no I cannot.
I do not mean to sound
rude, no, but
I have skeletons at my back
who are begging to finally sleep.

My mother weeps and
cleans the house with
my tears.

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Filed under: Issue 2, Lisa Marie Basile

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