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Coming of Age

The Matriarch – by Priscilla Galasso

Great, gray folds surround a wet eye fringed with
Long, dusty lashes not yet moistened by her tears.

She sways ponderously,
rhythmically swinging her sensitive, seeking trunk.

Her huge head, heavy with memories and maps
Surges forward with each tremendous tiptoe.

Surrounded by sisters and children,
She journeys through perilous wilderness,
Ever growing, ever onward,
Ever mindful of the needs of her kin.