// Alethea Eason














         Under layer of leaves become dust decaying like she was ancient. She
watched the bank. She watched the sun become earth. Remembers each time she
molded, it was her body: the lack of her legs, the roll of her stomach, the
bend of the sea over her breasts. The clay she found, as though she rampages
decaying sun.
         She was ancient. She molded history. It flooded over her breast, behind
her and covered her hips. Touching her face, the sea. She watched these
rampages though she had become earth. Stomach only a trickle. She become
her body only a trickle. Decaying molded face, dust down her creeks.
         She decaying patiently. Patiently, she was ancient. Clay, sun, creek
side took over her. Remember each time under layers down her legs. The roll
took the sea over her breast. She watched the sun over time, had handfuls.
She become around her body only a trickle, the sea down her legs. Lack of
rain become dust.
         Sea become sea around her. She rampages only. Dust, she was ancient.
Lack of rain become sun over time. She was only the under layer of leaves
decaying like she baked the sun. Down her legs touching her like decaying
sun. She molded history. She ancient. Her body bending the sea.



Alethea Eason's
poetry, fiction and visual art have appeared in many print and online magazines and in anthologies. She has recently published the chapbook Threshold (Meeting of the Minds Press, 2004). Her novel Deborah's Choice is forthcoming from HarperCollins. Her work is guided by the belief that any art has the power to heal.

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