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Nov 2017
The worries
come on the walk
back, melting
together like ice
in the glass:
I'm missing
something,
& what pieces
remain
are broken,
& that I am
never in control
of it.

The sidewalk is one shadow
on top
of another,
on top
of another,
all the way back.

No, you don't
see a thing,
I'm sealed,
a sarcophagus,
a remote satellite,
the flood
is put away
as neatly as
a magazine
on the newstand.

I make another
oath, to pry
open the tomb,
to speak with
a mouth
like a glen,
to accept
that I am not
my parents
nor the drift
of their silence.

The sidewalk is one shadow
on top
of another,
on top
of another,
all the way back.
Evan Stephens
Written by
Evan Stephens  44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)   
  868
       vb, Melanii, ju and J M
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