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poetry

Down to Scraps

Down to Scraps

You would charge into the end with a lopsided grin.
You believe in sacred lasts, you

with the audacity of fresh eyes
recite an atheist’s prayer
and know you will never swing low

Was it my heart or my son,
the Gods called Icarus?

jtp

By jtp

Joanna Tova Price has a lot of heart.

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