Page 5 - GRANADA
P. 5

 around your patch of forest
where your strongest sisters
carry the weight of everyone’s
sadness. I imagine squeaks, howls,
whistling grief. There’s an interstate
nearby and—because you were no doubt
reared by intergenerational horror, by
the smoldering shadow of artificial horses stalking—I imagine, swallowing knots,
your family mourning with their ears
to the wind, ever wary of the possibility
that someone they love may be struck down
in broad daylight by the seering hand of despotic transience. I drive on, cursing my own kind, invoking you, I’m so sorry. If I see your mother I’ll lie and tell her you went peacefully.

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