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A Chill


By Rachel Levitan

take my voice.
I walk alone on these snow white streets
as my drowning vision searches for another,
but they’ve all frosted and a
chill sets its spindly fingers on my bare neck.
I live in a shadow place and
as long as the sun resists my outreached hand,
its foe cloaks me with the darkest velvet.

sew me up.
lay the net on both curls of the lips
thread the needle and cinch tightly, for as
I walk alone on these grey streets
where statues mock and
Shadows grow and swallow whole,
my shrinking bones tremble with fright.
Skin is iced, but inside I melt; spring’s silence
blossoms like bruises on my lips.

wipe the sleep from my eyes
and pour some fresh-brewed solitude
with the little slices of sun light that slowly peek
from splitting seams
Do I smell sound’s return?
inhale victorious, exhale vengeance

I run and hide where the ghosts all sleep
come seek me.

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