Like me.
That’s the drug – a draft of this nectar
can own me into the next life for an accolade
you barely recall.
Like me.
Quiet my fears with the smile and nod
I awaited endlessly at war zone dinner tables, parentless
performances and lonely surgeries.
Like me
and it’s ok not to have been born a son,
to be funny, a tree climber and never a prom queen
to get migraines.
Like me
and I could weep, run,
dance, spread my arms to this fast warming world
in joy, terror and love.
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Published by
Cynthia M. Sheward
Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement.
Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media.
She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.
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