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Jessie Hambel Poem
Two thin tangled medals
sway in the rearview mirror
of your dirt-caked Jeep.
Indented identification
on polished silver surfaces
clang together a constant
reminder in your ears.
I heard the anecdote once,
landmines and folded flags.
My eyes began to fall
on hints of gray
in cropped hair,
flat-lined lips
and shabby strapped boots.
I want to reach out,
tug at the laces.
Watch as you untie.
Copyright © Jessie Hambel | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Jessie Hambel Poem
There were nights
I was convinced the weather
in my head had seeped
out of my ears and
dyed the atmosphere.
Snow would cascade
over darkness,
land on streaked cheeks.
Now there are nights
I realize even clouds
have to let go of that
which makes them dense.
Copyright © Jessie Hambel | Year Posted 2016
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