Autumn leaves coat the pavement
like careless gems,
their silent bodies slowly rotting.
Likewise, a finger glowers and sweats,
unhappily attached to a hand so busy surviving,
it hurts more than it helps.
Days later, betrayed by Mary, Jesus, God,
lavender, tea tree and Himalayan salt,
the body interferes
insisting on manufactured
ointments, pills and plasters
to cover and protect what it cannot heal.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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