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Watching the twang of America

on T.V. nipping at the heel chords,

the tendons, the porous

ruins of a Country’s bones,

the Coup

the busts of Con-

federates in the Rotunda,

not a culture,

but a filter, Dis-

stilled and Dis-

gusting

white lightning,

blustering, cowering

at the distant

thunder that awaits.

 

But we say this

in whispers,

in the bubble

of our living rooms,

in the fragility

of being witness,

our bodies infected,

our senses dulled,

eating Georgia peaches

from a can,

from the couch,

until

there’s that twinge,

that faint sweetness

of hope

on the tongue –

and we sit together

you and I,

confused

and weeping.

Dirt by Jeremy Snyder

And as the rocks melt on this soup skin,   in this pot left on simmer for a few million years,   these memories push up through the soft spots.     And

Piper Cunningham Headshot

Poetry Prompts by Pepper Cunningham

Poetry Prompts Look up fifty-five of your favorite poems and use the third letter of the fourth word in every second line to write a sestina about loss. Make sure

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