From younger days…



  Standing on the porch and there is smoke and it swirling around my fingers from the tip of the cigarette filling me up and there is a train passing by the big four. I am the woman Helen who started out as a line I drew on a piece of paper that became an eye and then a nose and then a face and then the neckline, the shoulders braced the clavicle the breasts the navel the shirt covering milky white skin always soft always smelling like bread pudding and cinnamon. I am Helen who makes coffee in the morning with her soft hands measuring pouring passing over the counter tearing the pink packet of sugar substitute and pouring the precious powder like cocaine into the coffee mug. I am her as she does those things while I stand on the front porch smoking and the train passes by the big four.


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K.A. Wright

I believe in a few things, every so often.

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