we are not old
or dying
but afraid

we are the voice
of the burning girl
after she has dissolved
into nothing but
faded cloth wrapped
tight around old bones

and as the wind finds
all of the holes
in this house
we turn to each other
for warmth

we compare faces
and names
and whether or not
your sister will come live
with us when she finally
pulls herself from
the tar her life
has become

and the killer is free

the trunk of his car
empty
and waiting
and the baby asleep
upstairs

one of us will have to
be the first
to break his heart

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