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by Benjamin Carson
She was, and I told her she was,
non compos mentis, after she hurled
herself, ragdoll, all dressed in nothing,
down that flight of stairs. “A magpie,”
she says, in a raspy chatter, pulling at her hair,
a heap on the floor, shattered. “I ascend,”
she says, pie-eyed, as though too high to be heard,
and I say, yes, ascend, Magpie, and fly, fly again.
About the Author
Benjamin D. Carson lives with his dog Dora on the South Shore of Massachusetts. His creative work has appeared or is forthcoming in many literary publications, including Cactus Heart, October Hill Magazine, Rumble Fish Quarterly, Yellow Medicine Review, and New Plains Review. His chapbook We Give Birth to Light: Poems was published by Finishing Line Press in June 2021.
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