While sitting in an empty park
she thought about why everyone
was hurting. The swings were held
onto their frame by noisy chains that
rattled in the wind.

A gray cat with one eye
walked across the sand into the bushes
and then disappeared without any further
calls to pay attention.

Her every day and night became
a floating mass of weird, and in her dreams
there was a good chance she’d be drowning.
When she would get home in the evenings
she’d find her mother crying, looking at
old pictures of her dad.

They kept the windows
covered because the sunlight didn’t match
up with the way they felt about their
given day.

The dusted air was their
personal incense laden atmosphere,
and the closer you looked
at the light fixtures the clearer
what they breathed in then became.

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