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Safety by Rae Norman


My dad always cut

my grapes into quarters.

He was afraid

I would choke.

I wish I could tell

him that the sweet

is sweet, that grapes

are good to eat.

Dad, I have tasted and

seen and swallowed

the coldest, crispest

grapes, nothing bad

will come from them

just because they’re from

her hand. Don’t worry, please.

You ask if I still

pray, if I go to church.

I drank communion

only yesterday,

red wine staining her

lips and mine.

Tell me again how

love is worship.

Dad, I listened

the first time.

Rae Norman writes every now and then. You can find her poetry in Wrongdoing Magazine, Perhappened, Writers Resist, the lickety-split, Falling Star Magazine, and Isacoustic, and find her on twitter at @raeswriting.


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