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Wednesday, May 2, 2018


If There Is One Girl, There Must Be Two

Because the morning had another side.
On this side,
a field rolled in pleasure.
On the other side,
a quiet yard pooled around a grand house.
Our girl, the one who was flecked throughout
like a mineral in the field, saw another girl
forming in the seriousness and good fortune
on the other side.
The other girl was taller, blonder,
and her mouth was being pried open by the sun.
Our girl, the one who was repeated like fence post,
felt the sun take her face in its chemical hand.
It pressed words onto their tongues one by one:
If. I. Break. Open.
It’s. Only. So. You. Can. Crawl. Out. 
Like twin ridges,
the girls stood above a river that flowed
with the unending blood of lonely people.
They grew sick of holding it in, though.
and the windows nearby slowly darkened 
because houses are our only reservoirs. 

It was a long afternoon.
The girls invented at least 7 other rivers. 
They tried to swim to one another 
across the river of embodiment,
but it was a leaden river and they sank.
They dove into the river of sameness 
but were cut in half or erased.
They gave up at dusk like we all do.
Our girl picked at a loose thread on her dress 
that unraveled the blonde girl’s hemline.
It was time for dinner on both sides, 
but no one moved.
Our girl tugged harder at the thread
and the blonde girl’s lower lip pulled down.
She said, the windows you sent
have begun charring my little house, but slowly,
much more slowly
than whatever it is that’s happening to you.

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