Yes. Find more of this poet’s work here:
A mother has a soul.
A soul needs
to walk uninterrupted down the train
and through each car,
emerging alone at the balcony
of the last car, steel shrieking,
black night opening
suddenly like a blade
or black parachute, sucking loose hats, change,
dust, into it,
divulging nothing. A soul
It practices death and rebirth. Its hair
then sheds; its love fills, then empties;
it dies absolutely
to the ground, but a root persists; or,
even roots wither
in drought, but a seed-case
dropping one seed.
A door slides open. White bones
turn, lightened & expressionless,
to re-enter the last car.
Anna Laura Reeve is a poet living in East Tennessee with her husband, daughter, and heirloom vegetable & native plant gardens. She’s working on her first poetry collection. Previous work of hers has appeared or is…
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