A daily poem #175 – April 1, 2010

A poem
by Daniel Johnson

Inheritance

We drank hard water.
Spoke in plain language.

Said what we didn’t

with a joke or a look.
One went missing—

let silence drill its hole.
A second fell ill.

We cloaked our mirrors.
Slashed a red X

on the door to our house.
Pass over us, I asked

the raven sky,
or burn in me

a second mouth.

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~ by Chris Hibbard on April 1, 2010.

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