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Sunday, April 2, 2017

THEY WHISPERED UNTIL THE DAY OF THEIR UPRISING

The secret pavilion was so secret we didn’t even know about it
Being a grown up can be so lonely when the little girl inside
had a sisterhood replaced by sorrow
The old woman with the lamppost behind her said anything you withhold
is a secret and what I know is he threw red bricks
What I know is grief is less like a journey and more like black lines on a cheetah’s face
After I screamed the opossum crossed our path and walked hunchy
straight into the story book where its only pretty part is its mouth
where by page 12 it is suspended by its tail


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