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Poetry

Groundhog Day

by Barrett Warner


    My mother strips me down
    in the foyer under the sky light.
    She's looking for bulls eye rashes
    on my arms, my spine.
    I tell her the dizziness,
    the hair falling out
    is caused by marriage counseling,
    but she's convinced
    I've got lyme disease,
    cirrhosis of the nerves.
    "You" she says "You and that dog,
    it's a wonder you're not dead already."

    Afterwards we walk around the kitchen
    and I shop for groceries, essentials.
    She stops at a jade plant,
    cuts a stem, tells me it will root,
    tells me it will live for a long time
    if only I can just leave it alone.

 

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