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Triolet
 

 

 

 

Deborah Finkelstein, US

 

Before Me

 

I hope she doesn't go before me
How could I handle that?
I never thought the door was so close
I hope she doesn't go before me
Open wounds paint her skin
Tubes zig zag around her body
I hope she doesn't go before me
I couldn't handle that.

 

 

Glimpse of the Spirit

 

Glimpse of the spirit
Shout like a red ghost
Light diminishes
Glimpse of the spirit
Stone breath
Candles out
Glimpse of the spirit
Shout like a red ghost

 

 

We Do Not Move

 

We do not hear them say, “Let’s go,”
We do not move.
We are hungry.
We do not hear them say, “Let’s go.”
We bathe in orange panang, red tea on our lips
As rice noodles entangle themselves in a sea of massaman.
We do not hear them say, “Let’s go,”
We do not move.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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