Blankets
Another warm blanket
smothering our soul;
its threads
bound with toxins
weave through us all.
While our north
suffocates
caught in its fold,
our Inuit future
is already sold.
The hem is dripping milk
sour from the breast.
The weight of this truth
should be crushing our chest.
Copyright © Maureen Mcgreavy | Year Posted 2017
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