©1999 by Jennifer Reed
you read this time will stand still.
the hairs will stand up on the back
of your neck. a hundred voices call
out to you in the cracked concrete
of diminished vision and dessicated
wilderness. the switch
is turned and the lights shut off.
in the hiss of your match, your breath,
is your realization that you are not alone
in this room. set
her down, move
then her name rises without
to lips that thought they had
shards of her pottery
from cluttered corners of bathroom cupboards,
a poster from north hampton
finally taken from the wall,
and indifferant eyesores
of frayed clothing
spill onto the bedsheets.
could there be more to unearth,
could her name be
impossible to forget?
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