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I am from Maize
and the Morning Glory
whose silent bent heads
bring memories of
obedient wives.
I am from pensive
and the introverts,
from fear and leather belts,
whose proud strikes
bruises bloom,
and the flowing crimson
tastes of copper.
I am from lands
where frail leaves
refuse to change
whose wilted and stunted
vines still remember
the mother root.
and the death of great women
whose stories remain
untold.