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UNTITLED (NOW I'M NOT)

Written May 2, 2021.

Last year, I met you

As lines on a stick

As a gasp

The news cascading past my teeth

Too soon

I felt you land

As a peaceful tiredness

As grapefruit cravings

My mother’s knowing smiles

I became a home

I felt you stir

As cramps in the morning

As bright red against white

Your proof of life

An end without a beginning

I know it’s a common thing

It happens 1 out of 4 times

But you were the only one

For me

I think of you

As water pulling through my fingers while I swim

As a split second collision of skeletons

You were there

Now I’m not


[All content written by Liz Goode. Not to be reproduced without permission.]

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