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WATER
A pale ray bleeds
across the swamp.
Slick ivy coils tangled tight,
choking voices into damp grass
hissing...love?
—drowned before heard—
They say Mother Nature provides
but she doesn’t shield—
we live for ourselves,
as the swamp feasts on our marrow.
She taught us:
you either hide from
or become
the man-eating ripples.
You have to get your shoes dirty
to not be swallowed.
“The water,” my mother warned,
“takes the ones you love.
But remember:
love could
never
outweigh survival.”
Copyright ©
Jasmine Tsai
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