the good ones die

samantha lucero

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i wish i could recall the pulsing safety
of my mother’s red, warm womb
that sacred burrow i curled where all i heard
was the watery song of her galloping heart
& the indistinct voice of my uncertain future
where she’d forget i ever lived within her
where i was wove to bone & flesh
& therefore have known her like
no other ever will
where she could not turn her back on me
as she did in life, because she wore me
in the front; a living fragment of her
until it came time i breathe on my own
& since then i’ve always breathed
alone

how did it feel to be carried
in strong arms born on
or near halloween?
to be kissed while i slept
by the bags of blood-blue eyes?
to be ignorant of the
cold, hard truths of life?

before life scrubbed them from my…

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