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Coming tomorrow:
 
 
 
SOME DAY I MIGHT WRITE
 
 
 
BLACK BOX
 
 
 
THE CHRISTMAS PARTY
 
     
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|  SCHOOL BUS

 
  Every word the last
spoken, every breath
the last. A precious
jewel in this.

Jake I love you,
standing in the cold
spring rain waiting
for your school bus. We talk
about how too early
it is to be waiting,
how too cold. And what
would you bring to school
to show tomorrow:
a black superhero figure
and a knight's helmet.

(You've already brought
your magic bone and
harmonica and books
and seashells,
an ever evolving circle
of gathered things
which become personality,
which are parts
of our selves that speak
of voice from whence
silence emerges. Things
always sweep in large
expanses of sadness
for me. Discarded, broken,
dusty in the basement,
an inherent failure to sustain
joy. Grief in a child's
lost mitten frozen
in the snow.)

How will I forever
embrace all the things
you'll ever touch?


from The Wind is a Tall Man Striding
watershedBooks
2000
Copyright © Jim Slominski