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How Can I Leave Again?

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How Can I Leave Again?

Two years later
you clank into your same old space,
stop your ignition with a screwdriver,
glance idly over.
For an instant I am a mirage.

This is how you live
limping in a haze
towards me
agape with surprise.

We ascend stairs to our past.
The sky spins
leaves rustle too loud
breezes clamor to be let inside.
Curiosity everywhere.

Oh God! Ashes without ashtrays,
no length of carpet left unstained,
two years of dirt, collected
video games, pizza cartons, unfinished homework.
You've learned to yell.

Your retreat, in a small corner.
Our bed waits.

Only one area pristine.
My clothes hanging in a closet

- Judith Pordon

Published in
The Rockford Review
Winter 2001

Judith Pordon - Published Poetry

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