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Wild Violet

Picture a tall, laughing girl
cause of sleepless nights for parents
girl like a feast for the gray lady gossips
Long black hair and purple nail polish
always dressed for the party
Somehow both a tight dress and a motorcycle
No one knows how she manages
but they shrug and she smiles and says
Let’s Go. That’s just how Wild Violet is.

Instead, these small blossoms
deep purple, pale purple, white,
peek from the grass, lovely and hidden
dreaming who knows—warm dirt and rain?
Or humming to themselves, turning
towards the sun in a perfumed haze
memory of another self—
jazz bands and martinis and
that reckless smile.

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