She stands at the precipice of the cliff
thinking back to blackberries, picking licking
the sweet bitter juice which dripped down her chin
youth's years, her mother's voice
Be careful what you wish for
Clouds above whir; swirl in white blankness
like her empty mind, silent but needle memories
of Be careful what you wish for
eyes closed, she leaps soars shatters
a broken memory; splintered shards of self.
Stacey M. Burleson
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