Un(en)titled
by Karen Stromberg

    My father had a gift for annihilation.
    Something, I suppose, he learned
    from his family.  I learned early
    to thwart him, to obliterate myself
    completely in his presence.

    Sometimes, I notice other people
    talk about their diminished hearing,
    their lack of sight, their useless legs.
    From inside a perfect husk of body,
    I envy their ability to name their loss.






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