Two smaller separate poems, that could possibly work together. Iunno.
*
It’s August. The sun shines but a breeze flutters
through grass and hair and a teenager’s litter
of cigarette butts and orange-flavoured condoms.
She lays in the field with short hair, carelessly plucking
green grass blades. She plucks until
the horizon is pink and orange, until
she has indeed plucked the whole field bare.
*
there is a lot of screaming at the house.
happiness, it seems, has run away and won’t
come back soon – she pleads.
but when the stepfather becomes
a martyr and the mother turns to
hysterics, she runs
barefoot
from the house.
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