I am bottles
thrown at boxcars
just to hear them shatter,
shards scattered on the ground.
The beauty of that broken glass
grows under the full moon,
rooted next to train tracks
under wooden swings
in kudzu fields.
thrown at boxcars
just to hear them shatter,
shards scattered on the ground.
The beauty of that broken glass
grows under the full moon,
rooted next to train tracks
under wooden swings
in kudzu fields.
Shannon McMorland Foley
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