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arteries
by Jerry Grandea

As if my Dad died last Sunday
and we went down
the least vital artery
of the suburb where I grew up,

the green tent concealing
a grave ensnared by a ring
of grief. As if my eyes look

downward from the sky,
my sight pulled backwards
through a microscope:
the shadows of my lashes
the caption of this photo
from the Sunpaper:

"Policeman killed, survived by
wife and four children."

As if I toss the paper aside,
step out of the car, and
my half-aunt stands
at the marker of a brother
whom she had never met,
and she becomes a face
in a blurry crowd of mourners,

And she convulses
as if her tears
had nowhere to go.

© Jerry Grandea

the rice terraces | arteries | my brothers
kiss the baby, love the baby | yin-yang plate

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the rice terraces
arteries
my brothers
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LUISA IGLORIA
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PAOLO JAVIER
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