Orange shocked veil: A poetry collection

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As a Mother

As a mother,

Awashed in an injury of soap

Needed to mount the summit 

Of shanty towels,

A’wasted in the orange shocked veil,

Of summer’s simmering laundry 

 

The water is too hot.

 

Let the hands

Redden and peel;

Fill the coat pockets with shivering rings

And the complementary shards of skin.

 

And now running 

away

she

Leaves the faucet on.

 

 

Look at Her Run

into the forest

Adjacent the washboard,

Light-footed,

Gray hairs plucked by wind

and replaced with loosely woven nightshade florets.

 

focusedfocusedfocused

 

Her feet muddy.

Could it be

True?

Could it be

True?

 

 

A Halt.

It is.

 

Hannah Frances Johansson is the Weekender deputy editor. Contact her at [email protected] and follow her on Twitter at @hanfrancesjohan.

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