Country Music
an online journal of poetry
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Nicole Wilson



Take a swig from the bottle.

 

A circle around the fire we sit throwing to it whatever shards of loose debris found
around our legs. Jeremy tells a story of bullets.

 

Sometimes the gleam from the flame is so bright
we see a moment to forgive the gloom of ourselves.

 

Our calcium embers might glisten in the grass.

 

Believe it or not, the message appeared to float in the night fog
where I traced my finger. What a crack up!

 

Tell God I said He owes me.


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