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We All Eat Cannibals

A poem of casualty

Two shots for the tragedy, then three
for the sacrifice. The temperature drops
60 degrees the day after a mother is taken
too soon from her sons. Lives become
frozen at the time of trauma. What if
we knew we couldn’t live another day
without love? Would we be lying
to ourselves? The lie is thinking
love is ever controlled by someone.
Love is not a well, running
wet and dry. Love is the sun…



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Skye Nicholson

Woman, mom, teacher, writer, unicorn-lover, tree-hugger, magic-seeker, fox spirit, crier, human. Writing about life: my years of drinking and my awakening.