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Poetry

I am the faint of heart
for whom so much is not
for. I am the feint
from hard-bent wind, harder
core. I would be harder
if could, if called, inclined:
unstinting ether, ore.
But what is not for mine,
I leave. My wont looks out
for what looks soft—as scarlet
petals, mortal, fight
open and clang like blood
but are not shed as blood,
but fall of their own accord.

 

 


Anna Lena Phillips Bell is the author of Ornament (North Texas), winner of the Vassar Miller Prize, and the chapbook Smaller Songs (St Brigid). She teaches at UNC Wilmington and is the editor of Ecotone.

 

 

 

Photo by Ian Talmacs on Unsplash

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