When you realize the sand is itself repeating
itself, each glitter and bright crumb
seemingly leading on abundantly:
no more thought than
a manic copy and paste.
So much for the pleasure of symmetry.
The metastasis splits perfectly in two
four, doubling, mirroring dumb luck
dividing you from you.
Brooke Larson holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Columbia University, and is currently a PhD student in Poetry at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. Her poems and essays have recently appeared in The Offbeat, Gravel, The Swamp, Foothill and Dialogue Journal, and she was the 2017 runner-up for the Tennessee Williams Poetry Prize. Often she runs away to teach primitive survival skills as a wilderness guide in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert.
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