Infants the size of pinkies,
murder the trees throughout the parks,
web the foliage in white clouds,
eat the leaves with toothless bites.
Countless sneakers have squashed them.
The dust of their droppings fills the lungs.
Shipped to America,
raised for silk,
They were innocent as babies in high chairs.
Who knew they would escape their owner's land,
while he studied the stars at night?
by Miriam Stanley
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Miriam Stanley was born in New York City and raised in Morganville, NJ. In 1966, she returned to her place of birth to join the New York poetry scene , and has since been featured in in a variety of readings, festivals and events, both local and international. She is senior editor of Rogue Scholars Press and has two collections published, Get Over It (2009) and Not To Be Believed (2005). Her work also appears in the anthology Skyscrapers, Taxis and Tampons. When she is not writing, Miriam serves humanity as an art therapist in the New York City hospital system.
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