Rugs

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My mother wove a rug
of scraps in a coarse braid
that went on for miles it seemed
but was only feet, but many feet

When the rug was done
it was an ugly oval thing
colours minced and mashed
of brown, gray and lime green

It lay on the floor
calling all dirt, calling all dirt
to find a new home
the dirt liked that

My mother was like that

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