I
had no use for words, no use to feel
the
triple wind, the tripped and fickle
words
I couldn’t say. A thirsty bird,
I
swallowed loss, drank coffee in a demitasse,
and
saw my mother’s cotton sheet
douse
dawn and dream the wrinkled day.
And
I broke my wings on songs
my father couldn’t play.
my father couldn’t play.
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