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Shoes

palabrapoetica in writetothe_sky

Golden Days

She spent her youth hating the dry, ancient land.
She had knelt, praying for rain,
a break in the monotony of sun and golden dirt,
to fall down, to splash everything with gray.
Flash floods that erased
paths left by wary animals,
torrents that sent lonely tumbleweeds on their journeys,
rolling lazily across the blacktop.
Driving down the highway
she would swerve
to avoid the tangled, dry masses
as though the old red jeep
would crumble upon impact.

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April 2010

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