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Published by Coleen Shin

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Published by: Coleen Shin on Oct 17, 2008
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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UntitledIShe gathers the parts,cold spring winds have blowninto corners,up against the rough bark of oak treesthe smaller bits caught in long weedsalong the gray tilting fence.Without them, those windblown partsI had grown thin prone to shakes and tremors.The sky, with its clouds low,full of the black shapes of birds,had caused an unfathomable terror,for even they knew where to gowhile I, hard pressedto take even one step for fear of the precipice, turned inward, ill.IITenderly, as if they were rare,she smoothes the pages everywhere,opens windows,tends my neglected garden.Her songs are from memory,they lead me to dreams and sleep.Standing guard, she brightens the kitchen, hums and cleans.IIITommorow, Mother will climb in her little gray car,drive the 300 miles to my childhood home,and I, serene, need not follow her there.
The OfferingMy heart went with you there-Into that dreamless sleepStood guard, its beat a daughter’sLoving synchronicityThe
To your unfinished prayer For life and laughter Another 30 yearsAfter your slow wakeThe smile, amazed and amazingMy heart came home to nestFluttered, trembled, then skippedAs a happy child mightTo her mother’s embrace
 In her bower of sheltering leavesShe sleeps through her lossThe hollow left in the tender fleshof her right breast, aching Given to study and silver knives In a week they will know its secrets Its unsullied purity

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