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number 54
P O E T R Y by Melissa Fair |
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| SLEEP IS A THIN COUNTRY ON THE HORIZON You leave the way a childless woman leaves A kind of forgetting, perhaps a wrong turn a cloudless sky a strange town Your husband's name on the tip of your tongue The engine hums A shoebox full of photographs An empty notebook A full tank This is truth waiting to be named You are a clean stretch of highway tires erasing mile after mile In the rearview mirror a dark river opens, turns its back on dry land. The lonely skyline, history, all begging to be lost |