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melting snapshot of my mother - poetry by Maya Renaud-Levine

Found at the kitchen sink where I left you

And the faucet, heads bent together


In steely respect. A reflection of arched neck - faucets,

Like swans. Loneliness giggles from the single cup drying


Tears, in curls of blue paisley. Patiently drying

Between rows of iron ribcage. Creases line your


Fingers - rills carved riverbeds of skin.

Erosion of self. Palms cupped in flooded


Prayer - murmuring church bells, silver and china.

Peel away until you’re left with hollow scraps -


Ribbons of corium and incomplete truths.





Maya Renaud-Levine is a sophomore at Beacon High School, born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. She sings in a chorus, plays the piano, goes for long walks with friends, inhales crime novels, and generally makes it very difficult for herself to find time to write. Poetry is a newfound passion. This is her first publication.

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