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Carpool Line



upon my pulling up

in line to drop daughters

blowing dandelions

making wishes

for what we know will come

passing by


car-pool line

upon my placenta signed

and sacrificed to biohazard baggage

offered to an industry of packages and piercings

punctured with “protocol”

and parenthood that pins me to the wall

like cats in corners

I rise, not fall

I will fiercely turn my face to shadows that call

upon my beating heart

masked and wrapped

covered and cantilevered to a virtue I refuse to signal

because the only virtue I will be signaling is the night in shining Truth

and as the sun soaks through fog that fosters the faintness of farewell

in line I pull up to drop daughters blowing dandelions

swift in closing doors upon my uterus

catering to the magnetism of mountain tops

because from up here, I am closer to the stars

to the moon that ties me to the tides

to an exposure to wind from which I can not hide

bearing gusts and gales to the peak of my pride

carpool line

pulling up to drop daughters blowing dandelions.

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