Lizabeth
Poem by Rhonda Parrish

March 22, 2013

Only nine months
when she was taken,
she never spoke a word.
But I hear her in the magpie’s voice
and so I hate that bird.

The sounds she’d make
the coos and burbles
are there, beneath its song
and I don’t think I’ll rest a night
’til all the damn things are gone.

 

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