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Headlamp

Carrying little, wearing a weak

headlamp, a mile in, stumbling

and wet, the cave walls

like my own insides and I an animal

painted there. Darkness

filling in my cartoon lines, my blank self.

I am inside a hole

in the earth, with pots

of ochre and ash. My offerings—

your hair, the print of my hand.

from Red DeerFind it in the library

Copyright © Persea Books 2015
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Anne Marie Macari Poems

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