| Rebecca Ingalls |
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| The Somebody Cross she was royalty and i was a raw harbinger. but we clung to the size of weather. even strokes swum from the trailer park home pitched forward three ladies, high from the taste of waking up. drowsy weekend, canceled school, packed lunch, burnt shoulders, training bra, no lessons, no lessons, no lessons... day trip to the Somebody Cross and the thought of late summer...all keeping in touch with each other today? not so much. we collide. math sits in her head, a senile judge worthless to its jury, while old prizes make a stale case for a former windjammer queen. with a progression of one year, running relay to the next, to the next. standing for the Somebody Cross makes my stomach turn over and grab hold — list the reasons for mid-summer cold... this prayer sits centered on my tongue while my throat searches for a vowel to kick it going. she's was my Somebody Cross but she's not been to mass in so long, i think her faith is all gone. this leaves a heavy relief that bleeds into sadness, expertly stitched in this up-down-left-right to save us from madness. |
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