She tries to unscrew the bolt with her hand
but can’t get the leverage and its edges dig
into her skin. Dark gray foam expands in the
cracks in the walls and makes the houses
breath rough like tired smokers.
Laying out by the stream, on a blanket,
she claims she can make love with the dead.
They meet her there almost every week
and each has their own way of persuading
her to take her clothes off.
Some weren’t always successful though
and she felt a little bad for them.
She knew they couldn’t have all that much to
look forward to.
They would usually just shrug and look sad
then start to wade back out into the water
until she never saw them again.
The long walks home, for her, were still

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