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Freewrite: Untitled

December 14, 2016

I can be a flute for the dying    To sharpen the air/

In Downtown                       everything goes
one way.                and then comes back

If I fold a sheet of paper in half     I am either hiding something      Or          I am introducing two           new things

I am made of thousands of creases—
some of the light still gets through

Like   many splinters once the bullet has forced                its way                A parasite.

If you ask my mother what I do,
She will say I keep to myself     Nothing

of the home I have built


If she still believes I love her   Then tell
her again           until the words are mine

Until my language is one she can translate

as easy          As dawn turns the world over

What grace we could be             If not
for our own           terrible fiber         If

You are the reason I am here        Then
we are the same                  woman

kiss the scars        between your son's skin
Tell me                Everything will be okay

We can cry                               together       anytime               really,                you know

we can shed in many               directions
until we find                         water, salted
by time                               and stone

Sharp air                                   above us
Silent birds     flocking overhead        You

laughing              in the same key I do

from across a street                       waiting

for all of it        to                       Come back
 

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December 14, 2016

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