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cover art Poems from the Other Land by Ruth Mark
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T h e   F u r i e s   L i v e

They aren’t some historical,
mythological creatures. You
find them some nights in
our marriage bed when
frustration boils the lid off the
pot and all the buried pain,
words-not-meant-but-flung-
anyway come spilling out
a swarm of wasps insistent
teeth finding soft skin.

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First appeared in The Sentinel Poetry Quarterly, June 2005

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