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  • Writer's pictureAnne Mitchell

Trade wind lullaby

In the bedroom we burrow a nest,

our sleepy time tundra walled in saffron.


Palms sway and sing, a breeze

of back up strings to the lullaby that binds us.


Maternal antennae, acute feelers of joy

breathe in sparrow fingers to knead for milk.

Outside the door, dinner party mouths drool,

hands clasp Cosmos, Chardonnay,


bobble heads chatter petty of club-hopping,

shopping and who’s doing who.


I cast off from befores, cradle my pearl

to drift away inside nacre.




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