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  • Writer's pictureMrsMollyWilcox

(He said) The King of the Jews

Behold, here is your king,

who will claim him,

when it’s not what

we thought we needed.

Outside my window blooms

whisper when rustled

by the breeze. Clipped stems

fill a vase and running water

begs them to breathe.

Across the threshold

I brought them, from wild

to a kitchen table, controlled,

in my care they spent

three days.

Petals litter the table like

confetti celebrating their

own untimely death, I brought

this on myself, and wonder,

where is the beauty

to behold?


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