my mother talks about killing chicken at the dinner table with a smile on her face. she describes the process with wonder and i look down into my bowl with watery eyes and my heart burns. i eye the fried chicken and i put down my fork. i'm done, i say.
- I'M DONE, I SAY [ALTERNATIVELY NAMED: A METAPHOR OF SORTS - 7.2.16]
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PoetryLIKE THEM; the cunning, the strong, the rational, the sensual, the rash. POE19 [151016]
