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Lisa Mann


November drags its
chilly nights
through shifting sand
calls out the bones
we buried long ago
recalls each marker as it goes
the angle of the light
against the stone

You linger there too long
upon the unearthed
nameless plot
searching for the ghosts
that will not rest
dizzy from the
blinking stars and voices
of the dead

Earth swallows up
the ragged bones,
November’s sacrificial gift
hungry for this offering
of tears

For grateful gifts
that walked the earth
now rest in sandy beds
The shroud descends,
the time is true
for bringing out the dead.

AUTHOR BIO:: Raised by wolves in the Mojave desert, Lisa was released to civilization at an early age, where she discovered books of poetry by Anne Sexton, novels by Tom Robbins and characters like Bonanza Jellybean. Her poetry has been previously published in Jeopardy, a Western Washington University publication, Howl, and the Desert Writers Issue of The Sun Runner.

November 8, 2018 8:08 am

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