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(In 1982, in Willimantic, CT, the thread mill closed
throwing thousands out of work.)
Late August and through the open windows,
warm Spanish syllables round and sweet
as pomegranates and mangoes tumble staccato
down the wooden stairs.
But when the windows are closed
and snow is heaped like neglected laundry
on streets and parking lots, and the wind comes in
like blue-veined fingers,
no coat is thick enough against its siren cry.
America America, my country, everywhere
windows scream private, they are quilted
against the buildings they are sewn together
with hope as thin as thread.
Copyright 2017 Elizabeth Romero
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