Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-six Winter 2014 |
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ART OF LIVING D.M. Aderibigbe After my grandmother and my uncle. She wipes the water inside her eyes with the hem of her slovenly skirt. She sweetens her sour face with pretence. Her only son sits inside her tiny curled hand as though it’s a swivel seat; he’s playing with sand on this sidewalk with his malnourished little fingers. Her right palm kisses her skinny chest — each time vehicles approach— each time vehicles pass by. Her hope given to dust and thick exhausts’ smokes, each time. Darkness around their eyes— moon shoots out of the bowl she uses to collect alms. Tears run across their cheeks like lakes— gathering inside their mouths; the tears, slipping into their dry mouths. |
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