Bridging the Marshlands   2 comments


Pressed by a swallowtail’s fluttered flight, chased by my teacher’s rollicking praise–buoyed, bullied, charmed, ignored–my slatted path bent left, leaned right, fell true, flew wrong, was tossed by gales and feathers and hugs,  a crazy, crooked, imperfect line, like aimless ivy with nodding leaves, its moving target emphatically me.

Posted November 8, 2013 by pjsisson in Uncategorized

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2 responses to “Bridging the Marshlands

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  1. This is wonderful.

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