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She came with trunks,
Two, and an odd sense of fashion and the
Three red hatboxes that came with it.
She came with a sad sort of gloom
That reached up and filled the cobwebs with smoke
Practically weighed down the dust.
She came with an umbrella
And rain boots, an un-matching pair.
She came with dry sarcasm,
Borrowed from her brother and
A lonely kind of smallness
That she had stolen away from someone she had once loved.
She came with four large cookbooks and
More saucepans than we had room for.
She came with plastic spoons
And her mother’s china.
She came with dinner parties and
Small conversation and cigarette smoke.
She came with all the things she wanted,
But could never have, she came with
Everything she used to be and whoever
She was now.
She came with the past, sewn onto her skin,
Like a mannequin, except she bled.
She came with scarves and knitting needles,
She came with fresh bread on Sundays, sweet tea,
That awful green couch and rose perfume,
She came with little half songs she
Half sang and a clarinet she couldn’t play.
She came with too many boyfriends
And one lover who only came by on Mondays.
She came with old records with
Nothing to play them on because she thought,
“Everybody has one anyway…” and she came with
Her anxiety and quiet worries.
She came with a willingness to make anything happen
And three day old laundry
That she left out on the balcony.

She came for a year,
Just a few months really
But she left everything here,
All her crap I’ve kept so well
And even so,
I feel empty anyway.





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