My Voice
dried bits
dried bits
come morning,
fingernails scrape
dry seed
from stomach
sloughed bits
fall to tile floor
and she muses
if this is all
that remains-
it isn't much
m
come morning,
fingernails scrape
dry seed
from stomach
sloughed bits
fall to tile floor
and she muses
if this is all
that remains-
it isn't much
m
Comment On This Poem ---
dried bits
dried bits
