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.