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I dream of tiny white bones
glued to black
construction paper,
arranged in the shape
of a heart.

You hold a pair
of blunted scissors,
bits of paper
and feather
stuck to your fingers.

Mom, you whisper.
I made this for you.

I wipe flecks of blood
off the kitchen table and tell
your father the bird was found
by the road, already dead.
You thank me later,
handing over the lungs
you planned to set on fire.


Lauren E. Milici is a resident Dharma bum, wannabe bodhisattva, and real
gone chick. Her work has been published or is forthcoming, in Pioneertown.,
The Harpoon Review, Vending Machine Press, and Ishka Bibble. She
frequently posts drafts, sketches, and musings at her website, laurenemilici.com

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