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"Deep Veins" by Molly Greer

His frail hands are pale like the full moon

and I can trace the intricate pattern

of deep veins beneath the surface,

like a leaf from one of his old bouquets.


He used to pick wildflowers on long walks,

and point out peculiar insects

that were crawling up his arm,

while I skipped by his side –

searching for animals

with my pockets full of pinecones

and interesting fur.


His bouquets always ended up on the kitchen table,

where they would sit in their little vases

until the flowers slowly wilted

and the delicate leaves,

with all those deep veins,

finally curled

and fell softly to the earth.




Molly Greer lives in Maryland with her husband and two children. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry, 34 Orchard, Sledgehammer Lit, and Outcast Press Poetry. You can find her on Twitter: @MKGreerPoetry.


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