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NATIONAL POETRY MONTH: Day 2 

4/2/2015

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Petrichor (the first rain after a dry spell)

I.
Metal arms, spindly
malnourished bench-presses 
carry the parachute above
our heads. The wind 
swallowed everything 
but water. I am a fish.
You are drowning. 
Fatal. 


II.
Dropping pennies 
face up on sweaty
cobblestone barely missing
puddles as we jump across
congested streets. Today was
a good day, when we ignored
the storm and got to play
dress up, instead. 

We are made of water.
Replenished by the rain. 


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  • Little Bit Of Cinnamon
  • JORDAN & MELISSA
    • This is Us
  • Writings
    • Something Blue
  • LEFT2WRITE
    • LIT MAGS