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The Day I Left Candles At His Grave Sight

I think of him
every year on my
birthday –

He died of a stomach ache –

I remember how
I wrote poems and
plastered them on

the walls
as though they might

accumulate
into a
thirteen-year-old boy.

I imagine how
his eyes

would be replaced
with small worlds,
his hands holding

desert sand and
sea grass

instead of
the usual
Indiana corn

and coffin nails.

Published inBlogging & PoemsMy Poems

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