A Kind of Love

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There were parts of her strewn from Mississippi to Alaska,
a toe left alongside a corn-framed, dusty road in Nebraska,
a portion of right forearm in Montana,
her pancreas intermingled with the roots of crepe myrtle in West Virginia.
She’d always said she’d wanted to see the country,
so he left both of her blue eyes near the Canadian border
adrift in the Boundary Waters,
above
with her beyond.

Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 25

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