red booth
review
issue s16een
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Portrait of My Mother
as a House II
Eaves leaning down like limbs straining under heavy snow;
I climbed on your shoulders, careful not to knock any shingles loose.
In the arms of the wind, I could see your heart bellow thumping
in time with the revolutions of the world.
I do not know you. You stand on top of the hill
up which I push my boulder. Littering the hillside
with pebbles. I'll name them, as you did me.
What more could I hope to do.
- CL Bledsoe
| CL is an assistant editor for the
Hollins Critic as well as a founding editor for Ghoti Magazine. He has
work in Margie, Nimrod, Story South, Natural Bridge, and Snow Monkey. |
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