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where we come from by Patricia Hartland • Cleaver Magazine
where we come from by Patricia Hartland tiny springs meet the red red sand the sea we built our little huts of buoys of tern wings and of jelly fish purple perfectly in a pool in the belly of the spade we gather them with days of red clay the seal under glassy dark peers into our mouths full of fish or of sky our faces struck out over the white cloud of the row boat the salt the oars magnificent splinters we leave in our palms in place of almost anything trusting skin to its magic and in the wind gusting scream or laugh or salt catches us from the shore somehow our sisters and our brothers their voices in our ears of endless twisting conch and we could be in any wind mud holiest water compels the bygone the hoofclad the painstake when we were strung by seas … chop! chop! read more!