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this new lopsided world. What dwells in a flood of tears, of sobs? This river’s song is so complex. So complicated but bear with me. Her song is not so strange after all. Not so where are you. Where have you been all this time? Something flaps in the air. What must I do with all this time on my hands? I cannot stand the footage of war on the television anymore. Cannot stand politick? This talk of cohesion. Social cohesion. Yet they are all there in their sheep’s clothing. They all flood my brain like rain. Like the hens in my paternal grandmother’s backyard that I remember feeding biscuits to with my siblings. I am dead to them. Hard to believe how they looked up to me once. Would have done anything for me. People used to concentrate, focus on my potential but that is history. That is a wilderness song. I am that river. Can you see the symbols? Can you seem them staring back at you in the water? Love I will never understand. Life in a field. I think of the collages I made with my siblings in Sunday school. Life with them now. --Abigail George

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Peacheslitmag issue #2  

Peacheslitmag issue #2  

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