Women Authors
Excerpt
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Relay
The days are handed off like bright batons.
A runner stutters into dark, the night
ahead. Ahead, dawn tucked beneath her arm,
someone else begins to hammer
the pulsing slope of mount grief,
while, in her wake, another navigates
the barberry thicket of what might
have been achieved. Who she was or will be
keeps her company the far side of the track,
winded, lurching forward, looking back.
