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Scrittura Prompt/mourning transitions

The Sycamores

A prose poem

Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash

the sycamore trees stir depression, reminding me
summer is packing her bags, leaving me exposed to
a Florida winter’s cold — not to you, a Yankee wrapped
in New England gold waiting for silver — but to me,
sensitive to the cold in and out, the chill I battled since
birth, the crispiness others embrace, I lie on a heated…




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