I stumble;

down to the creek bed that no longer runs

down to rust-red clay, cracked like elephant skin

down to bury myself beneath the bleached bones of a fallen scribbly gum

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Smooth milk-bottle skin

salted caramel sauce eyes, butterscotch

snaps me to attention.

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He said // This is your fault.
It was twenty-three years ago.
When I tried to speak dirt choked my
so I lay on the forest floor
a summer storm cooling the earth
and I was quiet
as he destroyed me.

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