Poetry from The Well

At my great-grandmother’s grave in Frackville

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My heart’s aging faster than my skin.

A robin waits on a branch above

A sun-bleached tombstone.

My lover stirs the dusty grass,

The sun gleaming through his hair.

There is only so much time to make friends.

How is the ground so firm

Above tender skin and stories?

When our hearts stop,

We still have eternity

To meet our neighbors.

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