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She stands on a roof alone. Always
alone. Did Kurt feel this
final? Tonight, she watches
security lights putter to life,
crinkles in her darkness. Nameless
neighbors pull down blinds.
Pull up sheets. Maybe even
pull off prayers that rise
past the moon. Not hers.
Her words bump
the ceiling and tumble back
into her chest. What she has
that’s real—dead butterflies
scattered in the gutter,
skeletons in bloom.
copyright 2014
Dani
Jimenez |
