When her grandfather paid her
a nickel for each half
hour she could sit still
and mute
neither could know how
her father’s words would evaporate
into close Jersey shore air
for free, how the other capital A
disease untreated might do the same
to a friend she can’t bear to be near—
and stillness becomes
permanent. Even if
she kept those nickels
all these years, she couldn’t purchase
a reprieve
from either for anyone.
awesome albeit heartwrenching, but then again, what is not
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Thanks!
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“…and stillness becomes permanent.” Utterly touching. Beautiful poem.
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Thanks Joan.
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