poetry
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Other people will keep inventing versions of her; the page remains where she refuses to shrink herself to fit any of them.
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A crowded mind finally makes enough room for one sentence, then another, until the poem finds its own way out.
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She did not stop needing relief; she chose sobriety because tiny hands needed her more, even when the old ritual still calls.
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A Manitoba storm gathers over the prairie, turning wind, wheat, lightning, and thunder into something almost alive.
Between Bruises & Blooms 