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72 pages, Paperback
First published May 17, 2022
Imagine writing a father without writing a drowning.
For the longest time I recoiled when he touched me,
my body weighed down by that cureless mercy
of looking away. My glasses are smudged with
the things we've agreed never to say. The bottom
of my purse is scarred with his cologne. This
part hurts to write, which is probably why I don't.
Never mind. Let's reduce it to facts. In the photos
I am his spitting image, not the other way around.
My mother says you argue because you are so
alike, & I am too young to be this lonely around
the person who loves me most...