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But the lavender will fade

Every time I go back I take a sprig of lavender.

Tuck it into the folds of encircled heartbeats,

sun-dry and spoon it into bags with stray eyelashes.

Wrap around people-colored dreams and

rub the buds against the walls to mask the smell of white.

 

Every time I went back, I took a sprig of the lavender

that god in heaven below was regurgitating

by the time I decided to leave.

Contributor
Nina Mouawad

Nina Mouawad is a Lebanese poet and Master’s student of English Language and Literature at the University of Balamand. Her work has appeared in Act One: Cutting Edges and Scarlet Leaf Review.

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