Muli Amaye

Fiction, poetry, writing



A silver breeze ruffles a curtain

of green cotton, passing a crestfallen

angel with red shoes.

People cackle and titter and

a wagon hurtles past, its destination

of little importance.

Crockery patters against a plastic bowl

recalling memories of a sister standing up.

Old lives are laid out in glass coffins

partitioned, numbered, selected.

Dainty egg sandwiches wait against

a backdrop of Polite Literature.


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This entry was posted on June 2, 2012 by in Poetry and tagged , .
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