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Sad Cornelia's Afternoon
by Cynthia Buiza

The bodies of dead people keep turning up in my backyard.
This morning, one corpse bore the marks of a tortured
     childhood
turning purple in its severed hands
another, still pink, is still dreaming.

Their arrivals mark the passing of the seasons.
Last summer, they came in yellow and green sadness
and the smell of the sun on their hair
the way their mouths gaped
showed signs of interrupted laughter
one girl who still hugged her teddy bear
was saying goodbye
when she was taken.

It is a sorry affair, this attendance.

When the rains came
their black raincoats had white holes
in their pockets
their hands clasped each other
with mortal strength
making me wonder if they prayed
before they died.

 



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