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Rebecca Ressl

Interrupted Soliloquies

Bent backwards, fingernails cascading upon the floor tiles,

shirt shuffles up – just a bit – 

it’s the shirt she wore that day

with the smile that ran into laughing corners

it’s the shirt with the sleeve I touched – just for a moment – 

and she keeps leaning, a balancing arch on tippy-toe fingertips,

toward some sort of finality outlined

in her shadows, like the chalk tracings of the neighborhood children

left on the driveway waiting for rain.

Jim Zola 675DC4F9-2C15-4B6C-B6DA-57E28D416349.jpeg
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