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Stolen

The library could have lived in a fifties photo, brick-red walls turned gray as hair as stone as matters in the brain. I entered and swam the scented aisles of hands turning pages. I was old enough then to know the flavor was well-loved, but I had never smelled it before. The dewey decimals showed me where to find the stories of mothers who loved their daughters, but everything was checked out. Five-fingered dust grayed the wood, a novel sprawled, open-mouthed and full of lies. I stood before the reference desk, borrowed the woman’s thick-lensed glasses and chewed her eraser while I signed my name. It was the nerves that made the due date look forgotten. Someone owed a hundred dollars. Someone broke all the spines and left the stories out in the rain to rot. I said it wasn’t me.

***

NOTES: Playing catch-up for poem-a-day. The trip to NY killed my writing time, so here are my quick scrabbling attempts to get back on track! Five minute poem without line breaks. That’s probably cheating, but oh well.

Kiss kiss bang bang, s.

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