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sandra wyllie
Poems
Jun 11
Her Head
is a cluttered drawer
filled with tickets torn
in half and colored *****
that fizzle in the
bath. Stained cards and
ripped old photos, drummed
up dreams and wrinkled
bedclothes. Spilled perfume
and fire engine red nail
polish, letters that she'll not
demolish. An army knife that
carved his initials, a document
that stated it's official. It's so
stuffed she cannot close it. Today's
the day she'll recompose it line
by line, wrapping it up in poly twine.
Written by
sandra wyllie
56/F
(56/F)
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