Arts + Scene » Poetry




They are gone now:
he stuffed in the hole
next to mother, she

disappeared into the erasure
of Alzheimer's, the same absence
into which (clever irony) my father un-

did himself from
memory. I am done with
fingering the bitterness. No is loss

a leaden burden I would bear. Rather
it is the dullness of
disregard, simply put

the place we find to place others
when they are no longer
of enough consequence to hate.

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