Beau soleil, vraiment

as my mother bemaoned

the simplistic divisiblity

of the world into good and evil

i looked to the sunset

and wished i could touch the art.

As she lamented

the double standard for the right

i looked to write

about all that i have left

in my head,

alone.

As she rued

her stolen youth

i stretched my hand

into the beautiful sunset

to pull the light

and shine.

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