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Hayfever, It's Genetic
A Poem by Carolina Fernandez Bold
You won’t speak, your eyes leak stinging petals
and my eyes are yours: the colour of nettles.
In your fingers I place foreign flowers
as you forgive-me-not, I decide
to keep the words inside
the lump in my throat, but still I choke
on that apple that falls from the Garden of Eden;
the wretched curse of each Spring season.
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