little blue bird . . . a poem by rebecca buchanan

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what is it
that splinters us
shreds us
peals skin from skin
bone from marrow
tortures our peace
leaves us lying naked
destroyed in
motion-
less
ness

what is it
that has the power to steal the words
beneath the moaning
leave us breathless
and alone
what is it (?)

little blue bird
on a thin branch
looking at heaven
as it were
salvation
wrapped in a wisp of cloud
a better place
than this dirt
this rock
this water

who are you to say . . .
and who are we to stay
and who are you
to go (?)

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