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  • Jennifer Preston Chushcoff


The Wishing Well

The water tastes of iron, blood. The lost and looking bleed dreams, surround me in copper winks, glimmering wishes.

The water feels heavy with hope, thick with silence. It’s difficult to swim but I carry on, as best I can.

The water moves with the moon, even down here, in the dark. I offer her the orphaned dreams, carry them to the surface each night to spangle the sky.

Someday, someone will wish for me.

The water smells like wet rock where a boy leans in to give his heart away. I feel his love, his fear, when he falls.

Tonight, together, we’ll light the cool, dark sky, our hearts, like lanterns, leading lovers to their meeting places, falling softly on flesh, on hungry mouths and eyes so full of love it hurts.


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