washing machine

This is the start:
a necklace of trees
the Chewuch River a soundtrack
borders carved by water’s edges.
Even the earth has curves.

A door shuts.
Trapped in a windowless room.
Between bites of lunch
he argued the benefits of his pyramid scheme.
This time the lure was perfume.
Previous closed door conversations shilled:
vacuums, knives, and fire extinguishers.

These moments
now shadow length memories
and quiet like fire.
Baptismal reflections
woven tight as narrative.

From country darkness to city light
the water still glitters wickedly.
We find each other in this way.
Our collective hardness
now exhumed as memorial.
Living loudly
an anthem and ritual that always repeats.

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