shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Dorsía Smith Silva

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As a young girl,
you wore grace around you
like a sweater of floating water.

Once you married,
you became broken liquid
and bleeding lips of wet sorrow.

As a widow,
your body washed away slowly
like rain slipping through cupped hands.

When you died,
the sky swallowed your crippled pages
and made you again fluid amongst the stars.