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six
July 26, 2023
Braiding pigtails in the outfield,
chlorine fumes,
rushing through my oil painting.
June holds her knife to my throat :
gone, but not yet forgotten.
Film assignments,
weekend pottery sales,
your sneakers in the river.
Her cold knife,
bound to my collarbone.
Remembering is a death sentence.
Last month will not loosen her grip.
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