Miss Katrina

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She twisted
those hips across seas
until her
tongue craved soil.
One eye
set gazing through a
telescope
carved by vicious wind.
Her story
was of caution,
frantic whips
of pocketed air.
All the clouds
soon swelled to their brims
with silent
regrets casted from
mouths of the
Unmoved who
chanted: “We won’t leave.”
Even though
the TV’s hummed with
bold warnings.
But Sweet K’s voice
speared deep
through the clouds
as she broke silence,
touching down.





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