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Some evenings, he would hide his face in his hands for a few seconds — then let go of his held breath & lift his head again, his eyes bereaved of light. What room, face, gaze haunted him? & where you are, friend, in Kansas Utah Rhode Island Tennessee — what haunts you? What is it you choke inside your palms? Have you told someone? Have you? Will you?
‘Some evenings’ from These Many Rooms (c) 2019 by Laure-Anne Bosselaar. Appears with permission of Four Way Books. All rights reserved.
Every poem by Laure-Anne Bosselaar hits home and how many homes there are…
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I agree. Thanks, Noel!
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Haunting, painful and full of love
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Beautiful and true.
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