Your pattern is stenciled

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Your pattern is stenciled on crumply paper: a dress, worn out on the town.

We skip over the cracks on the sidewalks.

We pass through the park gates, the city pushing in, leaning in on all sides.

The park has yellow lilies and butterfly bushes, beside a pond.

You take pictures. We feel lost.

A brown-haired woman in red and a reddish man in a tux,

trailed by a photographer, descend the steps to the lower path.

You put your hand in mine and smile,

or rather I now wish you had.


— Gabriel Fenteany, September 5, 2014


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