Today's poem was inspired by a reader email. Enjoy.
Rose emailed, a street-walking shelter-dweller, sixty-two years in the making, thirty-eight of which were stitched together by heroin needles.
Daughter of the Pope, sister of the molested, aunt of the overdosed, twin of poppies, welfare patient with tracks between her toes, fingers, elbow folds,
what’s to say of Rose’s life, except that rock-bottom pushed her up in the water, a stone rising into new concentric circles.
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