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i have spun myself a cadence without 

meaning to—one where boats brush

the bay and sail away like the casings

of a lemon, coming undone far and 

farther. some years, the rain sinks

its teeth by the dock and divulges lost

dreams. follow them and you’ll find

the loose ends of broken—fingers,

buttons, words, walls. it’s a graveyard

of all that’s been tucked into space

and forgotten like board games and

frivolous. i can still remember when

my curls wove staircases around my

head, those senseless days. mother 

would murmur rhapsodies as she

brushed my baby hairs away, saying

that someday she’d have to pluck them 

all off. one palm on my hair, the other 

on the fan, we’d dry the sweat off as 

the rest of the city frothed in amber. 

the news that night claimed that some 

people slept on the beach, toes dug in 

the waves. i always wanted to do that, 

climb under constellations, 

and wait.

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