Worn primordial roots connect
To you (a child of the Earth)
To us, who perpetually neglect
To mend Earth's dwindling womb.
Now, the fresh spring bird,
Is pushed (with love) from her nest.
Left to make a ruby flower bed
Her everlasting tomb.
With love, a child of the Earth
More by Sawyer Fell
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With My Mother in My Chest. My Chest
Eight AM, I wake in my father’s home with my mother in my chest.
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To Relive or to Remember
There was a vacant bathroom outside the church park.
I crawl in beat, destitute, feeding off the radiant waves.
I stare into a warped mirror punched by drunken twilight boys, -
In Knowing You, For But a Moment
On the porch, with grooves of woven twine
embedded into the underbelly of my thighs,
I sit and listen intently for you. My ears perked,
with unruly fire-streaked hair tucked behind them,
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