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Teresa Wright

tracing twaddle dot by dot, letter by letter

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Me, as mother

Me, silent  

as audience 

to the pendulum. 

 

I know, I know 

the beat 

I know 

claps drums 

to and fro and 

jiggles that sanity 

that address  

that spies  

my leeway 

retiring. 

 

Me, irrelevant 

as visitor 

to the blizzard. 

 

I know, I know 

the fury 

I know 

what-the-fucks 

outs and questions 

mumthe sweeping 

that mother 

that hides 

your haste in her 

closet. 

 

Me, quickened 

as doily 

to the famine. 

 

I know, I know 

the whine 

I know 

thuds want 

and nails doormats 

winks at that mirror 

that uneasy reflection 

that powers 

dismissive

trends. 

 

Me, watered 

as testimony 

to the nonsense. 

 

I know, I know 

the hint 

I know 

peels apples 

mushes leftovers 

puddles amusement 

that empty pot 

that blesses 

my bankruptcy 

witching. 

 

 

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