Station

Scissors with handles that look like
eyes, cut through cardboard boxes
that are left in the back near the broken
water fountain. Footprints left in gray
slush on the road melt away in the morning
and are replaced with the weak first layer of
skin at the bottoms of bare feet.
A woman loads her fathers old revolver and
takes shots at forgotten pictures her mother bought
at flea markets when she was young. They break apart
like windows at first and then collapse into themselves
like puppets with cut strings. The bell at the top of
their tower rings and scares the crows that were
resting in the shade beneath it. The sky is the same
color as them so when they take flight no one is able
to tell where they are going, and the moon looks dull
in comparison to the glow behind the windows of the
train station.

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