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Poem by J. Lewis Fleming

 

7 am: at the typewriter, the house is so still

a vision ghosting
through his sidelong eye
something at the bedroom door

he turns to see Maribelle
drowning in her mother’s
wedding gown

she’s been crying
rubbing tears
in the smudge
of child-gathered dirt

smiling now

a surprise
hiding in tiny fists waiting
behind her narrow waist

her hair sizzles
blond lightning
she rises up
on tiny toes

 

Artwork © TJ Edson
Artwork © TJ Edson

 

J. Lewis Fleming lives in a house on a hill in the fog with nine other mammals and one invertebrate named Wilford who has bitten no one to date. Fleming has seven poetry books to his publishing credit.

TJ Edson is the Art Director of Oddball Magazine and a volunteer at the Out of The Blue Art Gallery. He has also had work appear recently in Boston Compass.

 

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