MONDAY'S POET
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For My Younger Sister

Nine pounds of you burst to us
Like hot cherries. Screeching
Eagles and cat fight fragments
Leap and fleck with you, not like
Mist but less and more there.
Bedouins in a rain of mercury
Know this pelt that mantis
Prayers can't quiet. We submit
And tread through your snapdragons; I trip,
And you're flowing like a second hand
To glide over every moment, or
With palm upwards, to rub the
Soft underbelly of our every day.

Theresa Gillespie

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