Silver Springs

The prophet comes —
she is young,
maybe seventeen.
She wears dark green
and silver bracelets.
She likes to think her
hands are singing
bird songs when
she moves.
She holds together.
Listens to the rain
her mother heard
when she was
a girl.
Her lips are cracked —
blood laces the teeth.
She says very little.
The words are heavy
in her mouth, taste
like pennies.
When the boys
try to love her,
she tells them all
it will end in fire.
They laugh
Grab at her hands.
For the first time
in her life
the bracelets begin
to sound like


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