by Abby Palopoli


                                        to mom


rows of polyester hills run parallel down my legs  
their soft dunes slope over my knees to graze my ankles 

my fingernails trace their edges for trapped lint
down the hallways of beach day remains

their faded olive hue colors yellowing grass
smells of autumn and my mother's perfume

she wore motherhood on her legs
held it in her warm throned lap

these stitches become relics
of an eternally october woman


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