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Just Sourdough

Christie Wong

I think my parents raised me right

They wanted my ripeness to

come in time and leaven with



Keeping my unbounded bravery under cellophane and laminate

to inject enough caution, wit and anger to rise like a dough


Fear of face

Yellow in cowardice

distrustful in open moonlight

that cuts scars apart

I may have searched the darkest corners of my soul and sin

and found but corners and mirrors felt in the dark.



I was not bred to breathe so much damp air

Sun in my name

Royalty and calmness in its sake

And so I had to climb these mountains to get there

I am golden with possibility.

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