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She Was Told

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A pen in her hand would rid her of tears; yet
still she spins into the sun, stares
into the great glare of the sea that
spits silvered foam and swallows
wrists and ankles like the moon,
traced on her back by comforting hands,
tried once to swallow the bolded red
letters carved in the echoing curve of her ear,
the weeping wall of her eyes,
and fails.

She spills instead,
in a single unending
heart-charred stroke that she
twists from her howling pen,
her own blurred scream of
blackened ink.



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