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Jun 2020
Dear Grandfather clock,
with the pendulum broken and not swinging on the earth center,
I no longer care about clean poetics and colossal thunderheads.
Let the gloves be stained, I am much too drunken and wobblily with something unpleasant. A nimbostratus cloud, a cumulonimbus, vertical and towering, dark and soggy. I turn up the Frank Sinatra a little louder, singing and bellowing over seduction and kitchen knives. I pay extra attention to wah-wah romantic undertones, theyโ€™re celebratory. Itโ€™s not so funny when the stark original is bedridden. I want to bring you your dancing shoes, the sparkly slippers. I want to put a smile on your tired face. Bring a name to it. A thick, irremovable blue smile. You were young when she left. Werenโ€™t you, you? Terminal patients get visited by loved ones, lost ones.
Yes, I was half expecting you to visit.
At the bed end. Smiling warmly.
I sometimes hope to see you both.
Written by
Jodie-Elaine  22/F
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