By Susan Miller

It all started with
the lines. One pale,
one rock solid,
staring from a 
tiny pool of pink.

Clanking glasses of 
cheap Korbel, soggy
pita, day-old tahini.
Their after-midnight, 
quick-fridge feast.

Painting Pooh by
peek-a-boo bunnies
on lemon walls.
Plush quilts that 
lined pastel dreams.

It all ended with 
the blood. Splattered
terrycloth, choked womb.
Fists pounding the 
cold linoleum floor.

They all say there
will be others. One
pale, one rock solid.

She says she would 
have called her Iris.

Susan Miller is an editor/reporter for USA TODAY newspaper who enjoys creative writing as a hobby. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, including Whimsical Poet, The Dillydoun Review, Gemini Magazine, Common Ground Review, Months to Years, Under the Bridges of America, Sandy Paws and the Arlington Anthology. She had a short story published in Beach Life.

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