Putting her arm around the tree, she leaned into the quickening;
roots, branches/ her hair hastening to bark,
she was starting to the stick to that tree from the empty space
where the tumor that wasn't a tumor
had been disconnected/ pulled out
and it was found to be a wing, lost/ longing towards every bird.
poems by Rena J. Mosteirin
Thursday, November 17, 2011
The Tumor That Was Actually A Wing
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Rena J. Mosteirin
at
12:49 PM
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Blue Tuesday
xoxo
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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