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Friday, January 11, 2008

Incest Poem 3. Dad And A Mosquito

Today morning
I saw a mosquito
burrow deep into
my father’s arm
drawing vials full
of sticky-red- blood
I fought my impulse
to swat-it-dead-flat
black-maroon-smudge
over bitter-coffee-skin
preferring our
hyphenated existence
I desisted from touch.
babitha marina justin
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COMMENTS
Brian Jani 27 June 2014
I like the angle of approach in this poem.
0 0 Reply
Risha : Ahmed 11 January 2008
A beautiful poem...I must say.
0 0 Reply

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