Monday, January 31, 2011


Daddy do you remember
going to the river,
picking the body of a locust's
skin off the body of a tree? How I thought
it was a dinosaur
when you showed it to me, so sinister
and delicate? The clay-colored
crackle when I crushed the leftover skin
between my fingers?

Do you remember this?

I laughed, and wished it
wasn't gone.
Sin felt so simple then,
hanging on to the edge
of a post-oak's gray bark.

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