One Hundred and Twenty-One.


Izzy circle


my head explodes in a shower of confetti
all over new rug, all out the open window
all over your window box, all over the footpath
mingling with the fallen blossom petals
making a mess of the concrete
staining it bright with this shrapnel
you take my hand and we watch the last of it
drift and twirl slow and soft to the ground


Sarah circle


I wish you could see your own anger
It rockets out of you like heat
Like fire, like lead
It ricochets off the walls
Pierces my chest, punches my belly
Your rage is white hot and awful
And you can’t see it
This hole burnt in my breast
You put it there
As you gritted your teeth
In the glow of the screen
And hunched up your fingers on the keys



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