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Snow – by Paula Camacho

Posted on Jul 5, 2017 by in August 2017 |

I call her Snow.
He brings her over to me in bed.
She is the child I miss
who used to jump on our plaid duvet
with sweet good mornings.

I do not remember
how many white cats I pass by.
One with one blue eye and one brown eye
looks at me like a hungry orphan.

Allergies prevent my embrace.
An ivory moon and earth do not collide
and even in this dream I wonder
what my children do
in the deep distant orbit of their future