Unremains

Yesterday I built a sundial

out of your leftover bones

instead of burying them

in the yard.

(Someone spoke to me of closure

once,

and then of dirt

as if there were some correlation

to be made.)

Still

I can’t afford to watch your

manicured nails grow,

still

I’d rather read your shadow

than read between the lines.

By Maru Pabón, Contributor

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