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‘Deracinating Memories’ and other poems by Mary Bone
By: Mary Bone
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Deracinating Memories
Dusting furniture
in every room
where dust mites could gather,
sweeping away fragments
from a lifetime
of dust clogging pores.
Memories deracinate
to another time,
as I open windows
letting in the sunlight.
###
Winter Chill
The soup told us
winter was coming.
The beef bones had stewed
all morning
until the spices and vegetables
were added.
I dipped my cornbread into the stew,
getting ready for the chill.
###
Dying to Self
When you die to yourself
you let the palms rest upward
after giving your best,
the scraps are left.
The vultures are still feeding.