27 - nothing to fear
You saunter beside me, talking
of the beauty of the morning,
not even knowing
that there has been a flood,
tossing small pebbles
at random over your shoulder
into the deep thick air,
not hearing the first stumbling
footsteps of the almost-born
coming (slowly) behind us,
not seeing
the almost-human
brutal faces forming
(slowly)
out of stone.
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words: margaret atwood
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NEXT POST: January 16
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