IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
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SO THE MEADOWLARK SINGS

Amanda Mitchell

The meadowlark sings. Its song brings back the past. A tree swing. Black rubber hot in the sun. My hands wrapped around a rope. Hands pushing me from behind. A white house. Rows of flowers by the road. I hold a bunch in my arms. The hands hold scissors. Cutting through the stems. So the meadowlark sings. Reminding me of the hands That are no longer there.

 
 
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