Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 46
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THE MAD GIRL REMEMBER WHEN EVERY GHOST STORY WAS A LOVE STORY


A sadness condemned to
repeat itself over and
over. Blue eyes in the
photograph crushed in
a drawer in an abandoned
house, something dead
that seems to have been
alive, loss and pain
suspended in time, a
blurred photograph of
a moth trapped in amber.
Or the mark of his
hand on the gray wood
that no paint covers.
It was like the wine bottle
she threw, always bleeding
thru white paint. Or the
mist hanging in the torn
oak branches behind
the dusty shutters
where she heard
thunder, felt lightning
tear the branches,
felt his body coil into her
skin, a dream she was
sure the next morning like
all she’s lost, her skin
like pale flowers, a
mother who thought
there was nothing
she couldn’t do, a father
who was never there


        lyn lifshin