What are our wounds
But soil
Ready
To be tilled with our fingers
Ground in our palms
For wisdom.
For ourselves
For an aunt. A father.
Black caulk
To mend
Cracks in souls
Cracked open
Just like ours.
poetry, prose, design thinking & entrepreneurship
What are our wounds
But soil
Ready
To be tilled with our fingers
Ground in our palms
For wisdom.
For ourselves
For an aunt. A father.
Black caulk
To mend
Cracks in souls
Cracked open
Just like ours.
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