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Hand me your last resurrection
so I can laminate it. That way, when you spill
bourbon all over it, it will stay safe,
like a small child hidden in a hollow tree
while the soldiers kill his family.
I will not fold it. I’ll pretend
it hasn’t been creased
to the point of crumbling.
The laminate will hold it together.
Look at it and see your beatific face reflected.
You hit bottom and climbed your gnarly way
back out. It’s visible now in the light.
Look it in the eyes;
stop staring at the well that nearly killed you.
Copyright 2022 Ellen McGrath Smith
Ellen McGrath Smith is the author of Nobody’s Jackknife (West End, 2016). She teaches at the University of Pittsburgh.