Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Twenty-one
Winter 2009
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Lament with Gravel Roads
Sara Tracey

We thought the wind would calm us, the way a train lulls old women to sleep, their handbags safely on their knees.  We thought the wind would take us home again, carry us until the roads turned to gravel and tar.  Before we came here, we were barefoot girls wading in a creek.  Before we came here, we had worn denim and rubber boots.  Was it her heartbeat or the smell of her skin—warm bread and yellow soap—that soothed us?  She didn’t sing when she rocked us to sleep. 

About Sara Tracey

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