MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
Weevil by Mark Berkerey

Table of Contents

Poetry


For My Mother

Rachael Ikins

She lies now
in a clear plastic place.
Tubing, chemicals, drug-dreams, pain.
She wishes she could out-fly
her hollow bones´ brittle truth.
She dreams of flight.
Scars, skin stretched shiny
as feathers, a caged bird. Hear
their blue-black satin rustle.
Do you see her wings?




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