covert tears, graham cracker crust made from
tempura batter, the promise of music, jarring notes played
out of time, the screams of children at play, smoky rooms,
lottery tickets, dead ghosts trying to say "boo" through
it's me singing softly as the car crosses bridges and climbs
mountains and the sun sets. it's hot, soapy water, laughter,
colors and textures rescued from chaos with my own two
hands. it's preparing food in another woman's kitchen,
an artificial breeze blowing my hair into my face.
it's the secret knowledge that i can change my life again
if i so desire.
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