Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-three
Winter 2013
Meghan Tutolo

if the July rain is our jury,
the sweet sift of rising steam
from the cool backs of rivers—
              our last stop, know
I’ve loved you madly, how
the yellow flowers
in your front yard scream
just to open their mouths, or how
you never understand, and still
I give to you          everything, the storm
of my background—
I have raged to drown out.

About Meghan Tutolo

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