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The Other Side


ISSUE:  Spring 2015

Each night at 10 P.M., you snuffle & move bits of bone 
& debris about, making your bed in the wall beside mine. 
Sometimes your living is too loud, the bones too big,
your agitation too wild. So I yell at you to quiet down. 
We have learned to share this space, divided by detritus 
& walls. When friends ask, amused, “Have you seen the creature?” 
What do I need to see? I say. She guards against her ending, 
the day’s long drain. Predators kill in creative, varying ways—
the hard hand, the bullet, the trap, the hostile heart. 
What more need I know than that? 

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