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We are at the end of the world, Mare and I,
at the rim of the ice dark Atlantic, its chill curls
lapping at our toes.
I’ve spent July with sweaty arms tight round my waist, and Mary claims I taught her all the words
she’s not supposed to know. She’s going to marry Christ, and not some ordinary boy.
Late summer’s lick of winter ruffles our hair. We should go in.
I say how romantic those shacks out along the point, Mare, how poignant they are, strung to their
utility poles.
Laur, she says sensibly, it would be prettier without them.
We sat on that curve of beach, when we were twelve,
where civilization crept out among the sand pipers
on sad loops of utility lines.
© by Laurie Joan Aron.
Used with the author's permission.
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After fifteen years as a freelance business journalist and a lovely year of homeschooling her youngest child, Laurie Joan Aron woke up one day and felt compelled to express herself in poetry. Though she's taken a few workshops, none of which she considers very helpful, Laurie has no formal training as a poet. Nonetheless, many of her poems have found their way into journals. Laurie, who has referred to herself as a 'serial entrepreneur,' is also a photographer and visual artist and lives in New York City with her husband and three children.
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sillygirl:
Amen. Beautiful. :)
Posted 09/22/2010 07:54 AM
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jeanie:
no formal training needed, laurie. this is beautiful. the imagery, the subtlety, the capture of girls at 12. keep writing. please.
Posted 09/19/2010 08:12 AM
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