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I bless it for the way its plastic

flesh-colored strip hushes sobbing,

for solace it provides loved people

under four feet and launching

despite splinters and scabs and scrapes,

skirmishes with a stormy world.

 

I bless it for calming knees banged

on marble tables, shins sandpapered

by bike crashes. Would that it could soothe

the scores of hurt that will blossom

like wildfires under their skins.

 

 

 

Aviva Siegel is a forty-two-year-old poet and writer who has studied with Dorianne Laux, Ellen Bass and Sheila Bender. Her poetry and creative nonfiction focus on exploring family relationships, our own identities and the places we call home. She lives in Denver with three kids, two hedgehogs and a husband who leaves the poetry to her, but loves a good mountain bike ride.

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