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Jenna Richardson
Poems
Feb 2013
Thoughts on Living a City Apart
I could die
of smoke inhalation
in a trailer park in Southern Alabama,
my hair streaked with lemon juice
and you wouldn't miss a breath.
My vocal chords throb from chanting
your name to St. Anthony.
I am a 17th century puritan,
nothing without you.
My man.
My grudge.
My emptiness.
Written by
Jenna Richardson
Cleveland, Oh
(Cleveland, Oh)
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