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Poetry » Life » Untitled font: B s : A A A . width: full 3/4 1/2
Author: Stillill
Fiction Rated: K - English - Poetry - Reviews: 2 - Published: 11-01-05 - Updated: 11-01-05 - id:2040105

I wait for her to leave,
my small fingers holding the oversized glass.
My other hand in a fist,
the pill’s hard edges poking into my palm.
She shuts the door behind her, cutting off the draft,
and I immediately kick the blanket off,
and try not to spill the lemonade.

Small porcelain faces watch me,
as I move aside my broken jewelry box from Siam.
I lean across my dresser and let the pill drop from my hand,
falling down the crack to join his brethren.
I accidentally knock a thermometer down too,
but we have plenty of those.

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AN: Much feedback would be appreciated. Thank you.



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