The Meadow 103 The Worn Nancy White Welcome, traitor, promise breaker, year crusher. Darling failure, you couldn’t break me. I was soaked in lye and peeled to my thinnest skin, but not to worry. Your cloak of stories whipped away to buff my ignorance silver like a gaspy fish flip-flapping on the shore. I looked for my part in this, how I helped it happen, and at the bottom of the river found this love of the broken, the worn. So we savor what suffering is. Is that so bad? Well, I loved you for your gash and wretched past. All the lavish embroidery there, the stately windows, your walls of smoky faded green and blue.
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