ON ORIGIN where you can see the stars at night, and the air tastes like clay, children look into the night sky to count bats, where you can catch fireflies softly in calloused hands, while the freight train moves the earth, where thunder crashes like the congas after midnight, and warm moonlight kisses curls, where you can smell the snow before it falls, and spend hours telling stories in the glow of bonfire, is where we’re from.
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Rohanna Delossantos On Origin Poetry
