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Dear Mother of Weakness,.

    A boy who never begs, a boy like a siren, a boy like a tree, a boy
   mud-hungry and riverwashed, a boy unafraid, a boy whose hum is the
   sound of retreat, a boy who calls the bones in the earth to rise, a
   boy who licks salt from rocks he places on his bright tongue like
   the names of saints in litany, Selah, a boy whose mouth is a blur
   and a sneer and a honeycomb of psalms, a boy who is always the dark
   against the dark in the distance, a boy whose stationary body blocks
   the spilled yellow light of all windows, a boy with fingers
   juice-stained and nails dark with dirt, a boy who forges charms to
   send rain, a boy who plucks cicadas from the air and sings them from
   their shells--let him not come for me.
   Let him not arrive in the night.
   Let him not haunt me, this brown-eyed boy.
   X
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Author:Warren, Amanda Rachelle
Publication:The Carolina Quarterly
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2018
Words:186
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