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No Place to Hide A heart stopped beating on the desert's coarse, burning palm. An aged, open hand, veins of dried ravines and silver, rings of ancient azurite caress those fallen from their desperate journey. Still, and with unwitnessed beauty, the desert wears its scars so obviously. No place to hide the scattered history of our abuse, cracked plastic with faded labels, rubber turned to powder, mellowed glass. No place to hide our secrets. Parchment newsprint, blown about just last week, obscure in the empty wash— a small column on the back page tells of another crossing, another death. You were found face down. Your plaid flannel shirt led them to you on a pressing July afternoon. No place to hide. And I wonder, when you were small and your mother held you, nourishing fragile dreams in those dark, quiet eyes, how did she see you now? Carol Lieber |
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