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A Moon of Hard Winter
by Deborah Russell

Under a moon
of hard winter -
through the deep snow
and in the middle
of the night,
my grandfather drove
my mother,
to the hospital
where I was born
Beneath the moon
of popping trees
I began to write
with the language
of my eyes…
many moons did pass
and  in the moon
of tender grass
I learned to stretch
my wings
and the flight
of  my tongue
that spun a young
girl’s dream - how often
I fell in and out of love
remains unknown…
this night, I write a universe
in the moon of ripening

I know my poetry . . . 
the scent of jasmine
and the touch of small,
green leaves

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