my mother grew up inside a lake,
slopped-off grey clay braided into her deer-brown locks.
my mother whispered into my ear:
the very last winter, the lake was drained,
they found a pair of lady’s shoes, heels up…
This entry was posted on February 21, 2013 by Rachel Papernick. It was filed under graphic undertakings, haikus [ & poetry ] and was tagged with daughter, love, mother, Photography, Poetry, Street Art, vulnerability.
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