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by Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon


“You can’t go home again.”- Thomas Wolfe

No more here
but the electric
humming of houses
along the faded walls of sleep.
Out on the porch tonight,
only the flicker of television
through smoked glass windows.
Children outgrow their beds;
husbands outwear their wives.
If you walk the streets
where we rode our first bikes,
only a cat
filling in
on the neighbor’s fish dinner
and a cold wind stinging
like a rough patch of sore throat.






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