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ROBIN LOFTUS


Landscape


My mother was a mountain      immovable
and you'd better watch out

she was a playful sea to paddle in
come Summer's sun

she was a wheat plain to the horizon
a golden Demeter ripe for us

she was a waterfall of falling hair
for us to nestle in

she was a garden wild with flowers
a landscape to grow in.

When she died
there was only sand a million years dry

to run my bone-dry hands through
and no oasis in sight.