after Slippage by JKD and Cull by Sean S
Mediterranean balcony, Mother spinning,
pink Flamenco dress around her thighs. My sister's
dangerous mood, arms stretched, reveals
the need to go home. Now her wings
fold she has no need, but she shouts at me, be here! knowing
I can't be. Constant motion fills space between
shoulder-blades, strangers' hips and elbows -
knees. To stay with vehicles is to assume future
movement so she stays with beached
boats, derailed trains. Keep it quiet,
was once said and she agreed and tries,
but she can't
when he riles her. Glass
in her mouth from her past, her throat
is a mess. It's the red sort that won't
go away despite
or for good weather.
It's what we wanted,
she whispers to me,
all along... don't you think?
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