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Poem Number 23355

Gorgeous okra flowers tower over the garden
sap flowing up and through xylem and phloem
like the point of life is not to be eaten but to bloom.
You were a seed, once, you were a half-seed.
You were a little gamete, dormant, voiceless then
you were moist and moving. I have been crying again
like the river is high. I have been walking in the high cotton
like a hungry weevil. I don't even know if I have wings.
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