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My cup tipped.

words spilled out onto paper, filling the blanks in the template letter.

Pieces of the alphabet fell into place,

formally and methodologically.

I folded the print sheet in three




and pressed it into the crease of my palm.

Nervous sweat, left stains on the canvas white

I took note of this as I hopped into my truck and headed down that familiar road.

hands shaking on the steering wheel, it did not even flinch when a butterfly hit my windshield.

I was beside myself

Before I enter the place of hard days and mean words, he lay his hands on me he told me this was right, them whispered “TRUST” in my ear

I put on my hard face, the one I had worn through the halls of my highschool. My strides were long, my stomach still jumping

I handed her the letter and suckled back my tears.

But then it was done, I left and released the fallen butterfly from my windshield wipers

His life gone I sealed him away in a book, like I sealed this memory,

and I resigned


One response

  1. you should link this with imperfect prose today, sweet friend. it’s so perfectly imperfect. i love you, sister.

    July 29, 2010 at 8:46 pm

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