by Rebecca Lizard

Lessons, you say, that ought to be learned. Holding open the door.
In the classroom: lines on the chalkboard; stick figures, bodies
Slanting forward as if walking into wind. You turn. You say, What's
The best way out of here? Or you say, What's your best shot?

Your turn.

Echo or entire: your mouth, your sigh, your smile. I remember.
Never sought or promised; you disarm me. Picture of a wheat field:
Even the sky is empty.

Promiscuous or promises or-- something between us.

Refinished, sleepy, set by the wayside. Eggshell crackling and
Sun drifting across the sky. You finish talking. This story's told.


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