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November 23, 2013

A Poem for Deaths (Little & Otherwise). ~ Andrea Rossin

now that you are tucked away

and the bitter poison has ebbed and moved along a bit

we are getting on with life.

the nurse in the emergency room
asked for your current address.
the passport man
asked for your birth date and place.
the car salesman
continues to call me for your title.

a thousand dollars
or more
is a poor substitute.

now that you are tucked away
and the bitterness
loosens its jaws and
skitches its feet along the path a bit

we are getting on with life.

bank statements arrive with our names
one

under

the other
and our meetings are awkwardly askew and lumpy
because

this time is passing on.

the mail will stop hurting.
or it won’t.

or
it will take a very long time that
looking back
will have gone in a flash.

perhaps.

now that you are tucked away
and the bitterness moves
in waves through my blood as medicine
we are getting on with life.

you.
and I.

I am roasting choices on a turning spit
now that you are tucked away.

in time, I
as a seed in the springtime
will bring you out again
planting your soaked shell into the fertile earth.

 

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Assistant Editor: Steph Richard

{Photo: via Pixoto}

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