Page 34 - WDickinson_Blackwell_Submission
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Silhouette
You urban sprawl, you
weathered clapboard, remember when you
taught me safety in houses. You:
salted ice chill slipping down my throat to stomach pit, you
scream between steeled glass façades, through knotted fingers. I
close each door, upright and flush with walls,
hinged, framed by shadow, creep sinewy
between windows, through portholes, I
learn stealth, learn quiet aging in shade,
know the gradual exits,
trailing softly
behind you.
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