in Poems

Come with me, through

the gate, we'll find the way 
but hurry, do. The path is 
hidden but there all the same -
the leaves will disguise it again
when we've passed. Follow the 
children, they'll know the way;
their feet will always find the 
smoothest stones. Run with me.
This way is safer & farther away
from the noise, from what chases us.
It's always there, so start running.

Your belly is not yet a bomb. 
Your belly does not hide a bomb. 

You fly up & over the gate.
You brush the last leaves on the 
bough & they fall off, disguising 
our path. There is a child running
ahead of us. She seems to know 
the way but hesitates & turns
to look at me. Do you know the
way? she asks, & you bundle 
her up in your skirts & we run. 

Your belly is not a bomb. 
Your belly does not hide a bomb.  

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