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Maybe, maybe- I move, finally, up off the step and across the room, following, just following the sounds. I trace my way to the far wall, where three long, white windows hang in a row and I stretch up to see into the backyard. When my eyes catch Greyson and Annie, huddled in the middle of the lawn, hands clutched together, heads bent in, I see their perfect symmetry and I cannot look away.


(In the style of William Carlos Williams’s The Red Wheelbarrow) The clock on the wall Has broken It needs to be Replaced My brother says It has Meaning but I Have no Patience for old Broken clocks.


2009-10 Parallax  

Idyllwild Arts Academy Student Literature/Art Magazine 2009-10