by jaclyn lansbery
Walking out, foot after clumped foot, the shouts decrease.
The disciplined woman in the kitchen makes ice tea, and smiles at absence itself.
You don’t know
But the dust chasing after you has left a fog of beige clouds;
The woman knows how to sweep it back under the rug
Faster then you’ve entailed to create it.
Bless your safety;
Through absence, we’ve hidden anything red for next time.

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