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Vein

I write of my women
Grandmothers Mothers Sisters

I write of pain

There is a vein
Like obsidian
Black and brilliant
Hard and cold
Glittering
Worked into the hearts
Of those women

It is cold and enduring

If you ever hurt her feelings
She would never speak to you again
My grandfather said

It stuck in his mind
Before all else that he had to say
About his women

Their feelings:
Cold
Hard and unforgiving
Brilliant
Like a vein of obsidian

The bearers always unaccountable
Every bad feeling someone else’s fault
The irresponsibility runs through us all

The men
Mine it endlessly

The Mother Lode of pain

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Jon Horton

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