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3089 Hwy. 39    (Continued)

Page 2 of 2

where a choke-me rug sleeps,
stairs a child ran up, creaking,
black bags of cigarette cartons waiting
on a second story for some return,
a tattered flag hanging from a ceiling fan,
spinning in the door-cracked breeze,
a purse left opened on the floor,
a basement full of unknowns
because fear, too, ran me away.

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