CAITLIN LeBRUN
You Would Be 87 Years Gurian Honorable Mention Popcorn knees crack like jazz on sidewalks Your step slips like discs broken in spines that lay, nervous and fragile, on operating tables age is not an insult, not to you just a shift in the rhythm that once shook your boots. I stare at my own unresolved sounds of clips on concrete, leaving traces like rain (the bottoms of bare feet in dew) and I wonder if they’ll stomp in puddles, then dry in the sun tomorrow, maybe tomorrow.
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