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The Unborn Family

by Meg Smith

They stand around me and turn,
like long bands of sunset,
and they’re talking.
Always a dark dream.
I’m walking past, and out,
the Gael with me and everyone else
in the same knot.
I am a cut of long memory,
of desperately looking for a doll
in the trash,
casting about discarded letters.
I will dig until I find fire.

Copyright © 2020 by Meg Smith

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