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  • grace

Shadow Beach

I can’t seem to get my mind off your

Browned apple bottom cheeks,

Once pinched by the hands of a sorcerer,

Who, while performing this sleight of hand,

Told you to read by yourself,

Because he doesn’t have time

For children's stories.

And so,


You read.

You thought,

“I can become this sorcerer.”

You headed for a lake,

No, an ocean,

Because go big or go home, right?

Sprinkles of sunlight on the waves

Cascade and scatter over each other

Remind you of what the back of your eyelids look like

When you’re high as fuck

And you think of the times

Your father told you

What you could and could not do.

The bones of woolly mammoths

Can still cast shadows too.

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