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‘Deracinating Memories’ and other poems by Mary Bone

By: Mary Bone

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.

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