Dice (an acrostic poem)

 

Down to my last chance, I offer a prayer to the lukewarm plastic cubes

I then release them to bound across the table, watching them unleash their chaos

Cartwheeling and spinning among all the possibilities and futures

Eventually coming to rest as tombstones on my luck’s grave

 

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Bed (an acrostic poem)

 

Being bound to his pillow sounds heavenly

Even to the point that she dreamt of it

Daytime and duties of motherhood always arrived and shattered that fantasy

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