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Penelope
by Ivy Alvarez

 

Last night, as if it were happening outside of me, a stain crept up my dress, hem to knee. A bird tolled the hours to steady rain and I waited for the light to switch on again. I don’t like to leave you but I can’t help myself, or so I tell myself. It’s a compulsion, no solution. This is my dispossession. You are a home I can never belong to but will always long for, a half-remembered song or a taste and a scent from long ago.

© Ivy Alvarez

 

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