we make sacrifices here
flotsam and jetsam
the man the mountain
archive, rings earrings and things
the last of the milk and honey
the distant shore
of the colony
bodies of work
This is what I remember.
When I was little there was a shelf too high for me to reach.
Untouchable, completely desirable.
It was laden with trinkets, baubles and charms.
My mother in the sunshine, picking japonicas and warbling like a magpie.
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