Washed Away

What have I become now that life has flown
away? What made me a woman in the eyes of the world,
stripped like aging paint on a weather-beaten coastal
house. Alone, no children to bind my wounds or wipe my brow
during the storm. I’ve faced the winds that drive
salt into my pores and feed the sea within my eyes. Blood still
runs through my veins, though other channels have long since
silted over. Whatever life might have been has passed away
without a single breath, washed away on a red
tide that ran itself dry in the end.

Betty Dobson
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