For you,

DEB­BIE URBANSKI

Room Magazine - - SIMMONDS -

I cut out a piece of my­self and left it on the win­dowsill.

I left a trail of pieces, lead­ing to the cot­tage bed­room where I slept in a re­gret­ful bed. For nights, you didn’t fol­low. Then you let the snow bury my exit out and who­ever fi­nally ap­peared in your stead had noth­ing to do with you, and who­ever said a haunt­ing might be pleas­ant should be shot. You might as well be dead, stand­ing on the other side, in the clear­ing, while I stood on the far shore, carving un­com­fort­able spa­ces in the un­der­brush.

Here’s a se­cret: I made a man out of sticks then I blew him down. At least let me ar­range the imag­ined flow­ers in your hair so that, to me, it means some­thing.

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