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Rusty: A Poem This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

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I once met a raven that reminded me
of a burqa-donning virgin.
I christened her Rusty,
like a tarnished kitchen pot.

Three days later, Grannie passed.

The next month I met a flock of
those funeral-petals at the park.
Told myself I wouldn’t die.
Told myself,
“Coal shaded paper planes can’t kill me.”

Mother kept telling the neighbors
that Little Rusty killed Grannie.

My Little Rusty, the single strand of
black in a witch's hair
thought herself a sinner.

I tucked her into bed that night
but she never woke up.



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Powlala said...
May 17, 2013 at 10:12 pm
Gave me chills
 
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