Saturday, April 02, 2016

- NaPoWriMo # 7



The first man to tour my body
had magician lips
flavored like wild fruit.
He burned my hair
with five oils and incantations
that sounded like bells.
His potions burned all night
under my bed.
The next day the albino
child born before the harvest
tossed them into the river
with his eyes closed. 
He didn’t want to see
the sudden flight of vultures.
In the meantime, my mother
told me what White Fang
didn’t know about the snow,
and the memory of the sea
became a mirage under
the bedsheet.

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