She asked if I could talk about my past, so I replied,
Where I grew up the mines were working still.
And trucks roared down the narrow roads and heaved
cinders into ditches, ferns, and weeds.
The mines were then big craters where the . . .
. . . . . . .
Able Muse Write Prize for Poetry, 2017 ▪ Finalist
. . . . . . .
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Links:
[1] https://www.ablemuse.com/digital-books-24/v24/digital edition/Complete Digital Version of -/Able Muse, Print Edition (Number 24), Winter 2017