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i broke the silence.

June 29, 2008

Insomnia sometimes yields poems.  Before I decide I hate it, i’m putting it out here.  I’m relieved, though I always knew they’d come back to me. . . 


The Artists’ Study

It takes all morning, but slowly the apricot
emerges between the squirrel-hair bristles
of her paint-laden brush. She’s encircled
by tiny bits of wood propped-up against
flower vases, pinned to the wall, at rest
against the wrinkled window glass, all bearing
the apricot: first upright, now reclining.
She keeps painting day after day until
her tiny model’s firm skin loosens on the flesh,
round, sweet bruises emerge, tiny odors.
She’s leaving, having found this town unfit
to harbor a late middle-aged love.
The cats make muffled thumps, landing from tables
and countertops onto the wooden floor.
The apartment will be empty next month.


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