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Birdbaths | A Poem by JD DeHart

A lady’s yard littered
with stone rounds
where creatures dip

it’s a wonder how long
she’s lived here, the trumpet
vines declaring her life

a target at the end of the drive
indicates a man lives or lived
here, but he’s nowhere now

and from the looks of it,
the house has an attic
and basement, and it’s a wonder

how filled those places
must be, how her mind must

be filled with relics.

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