not quite

I’m sorry things went so wrong.

Your grandmother came from the left and we just weren’t sure. 

Tonight I’ll bear your hands down. 

I left the crow in the parking lot, I left a 

marker in the crowd to

bet on oaks and a 

pearl necklace for me. 

That’s enough biting through your own lips for now,

in the church pew,

in the back in the long grass in the advancing tombstone line. 

In November you always paint your face red and 

pluck out your hair. You decline turkey, you

leave the back door propped open with a brick. 

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