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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 54

Pale disaster

Handcrafting another imaginary Sodom,
you wanted your costume
made from alabaster,
a natural, pale disaster
it was, and you were—
but your skin was not
strong as concrete,
it puckered too easily from the swampy heat
and you said you were strong
and you could take most of life’s blows,
but I know about the extra
whiskey bottle
you hid in the basement
and your smile became weary,
becoming a friend of misery
as you grow more transparent
with time—
I cut another lime with you
we grow more and pale,
invisible, like Gollum—

  Carrie Magness Radna