Sally

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Sally loves the lines of each vacant shell

Broken exhibits A, B, and D

Of nature's love for

Geometric patterns.


Smooth sateen interior

Lifetime of being pushed around by the

Ugly tide everyone knew but never took seriously

Except Sally.


Sally saw the unpolished specimens that never sparkled

Yet stood out on the sand like

The sienna mark of a black widow.

In her bucket, flung; captured.


Sally saw the rivets of orange

Big blue's reciprocal aura

Conspiracy's origin to be Mars or even Venus.

Rust was only a color to her.


Feet scorched, podiatric anomaly,

For Sally searched waterbanks shoeless

To let her toes tell her where loook down

She knows they know better than her dehydrated mind.


Buckets of shards, each

Original & hand picked

She opens her back to the public

They adorn her ears with the nursery rhyme

Which straightens her in to the

Same lines as her collection, her friends

Until she is a flattened personality

A demanded stability

The rope of their favorite lifeguard, the anchor.


Sally's stand is where Sally stands

Smiling with no lift in the corners of her mouth

For she is the essence of her aquatic zombie friends

The orange, blue, grey lines

Imprinted on alien rhinestones.


And when tides come to console her

They too streak lines over her body

Blow her to 10 different seas

In one unruly ocean.


One piece of her lies under a rock

Another, the shore, then to the water's underbelly

Third, underneath mounds of wet slosh

Fourth, the lifeguard's boat

Fifth, A seagull's overalls


The last five smithereens of Sally

Lie on my dead grandmother's quilt.

And I love the lines of her vacant shells. 

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