Her Chicken Scratch / Poetry

Rattle. Clink.

Rattle Clink. It amazes me how softly storms crawl over my little valley. Clinging to the free air and pulling themselves up and over the distant mountains.

The sun has blinked – and your bones have clattered.

Your lungs are fresh. Your stones are clattered.

It amazes me how softly storms crawl over my little valley. Clawing at our scape like an old finale.

Waiting. Blustering. Sending me clattering.

Written by Alecia Writes.

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