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Chains

Piles of mud digress from their corners
and if one thing is for certain, next spring plants will grow back
in three thousand shades of yellow.
All the green has been wasted around the tombstones,
long stems of grass kissing names of beloved with chilling September wind.

Did you lose your mother?

Her smile soared to new heights but never crashed, not like that,
not like the steel beams that have eternally chained her into heaven.

Lungs have been trained away from oxygen and
eyes know the feeling of fingertips running beneath them all too well.

Sympathy cards fill the garbage,
unwashed dishes fill the sink.

I remember my mother had a beautiful smile.
Now it is locked into nightmares as cruel as the people who shattered it,
teeth sparking as the skyline once was.




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