Tonight's Poet Corner: Honey Skies
Honey Skies
by Belinda Roddie
My mother made a mountain. She
shaped the slopes with raw hands,
the gashes prominent on her white skin,
her black skin, her bruised skin, her skin
as combed and puckered as the honey skies
dripping sweetness above our heads.
by Belinda Roddie
My mother made a mountain. She
shaped the slopes with raw hands,
the gashes prominent on her white skin,
her black skin, her bruised skin, her skin
as combed and puckered as the honey skies
dripping sweetness above our heads.
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