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Poetry by Paula Ray

A Wake

Never again shall childhood fears rip
this sail asunder. Left to flail
white flagged, tatters licking
charred horizon dressed in
ashen shroud: heirloom
hung by our family crest.

I've steered this bow toward the sun,
away from your shrinking shore.

Paula Ray


Your words roll around my head
like a pinball racking up points
before I send them around again
loving the way they make me buzz

They have branded me

I want to speak them into your mouth
hear them echo and dance with your whispers

I want you to taste
how ripe I've become
basking in the sunshine of your words

Paula Ray