Every mornings, out the window.
A soupcan schoolbus would stop
and start, scooping crumpled children.
When I left school I wrapped my tired uniform
in a clear suit cover, held it against myself
like a teddy bear, a wedding dress.
“When you went south wearing my blackest dress”-
but there was no south, no tip of things. Just
the flat, expendable world;
a cracked mug cooling on the counter.
The sky green, an air-wide leaf,
trembling.
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